Tharwen of Valenwood: A Bosmer's Tale
by lost2darkness
Summary: A former conscript of the Thalmor and recent deserter, Tharwen narrowly escapes execution and tries to exact revenge on the Thalmor whilst forging a new life in the formidable land of Skyrim.
1. Escape from Helgen

_Almost there, just a little further..._

Her clothes were soiled from days of traveling, now little more than rags. The temperatures had dropped as she approached the border between Cyrodiil and Skyrim, and the quickly disintegrating clothing was not sufficient protection against Skyrim's harsher climates. She shivered, and reluctantly went out onto the main path, to walk in the sunlight. Maybe it would warm her enough to stop shivering. She hadn't seen a soul for the last day and a half but had been hiding in the shadows of the trees to avoid being detected and hauled back to her company. Bosmer were not common in this part of the Empire, and her battered appearance would be noticed.

The Thalmor were formidable foes, especially with soldiers from Valenwood serving as archers and sometimes infantry. Tharwen knew this only too well as one of those conscripts. Her body ached from her imprisonment. She had tried to desert before, and the consequences had been harsh. They didn't want to kill her outright, thinking she could be broken with enough punishment. If they found her again she would most certainly be made an example of though. She couldn't afford to be seen, at least until she was far from the Imperial city. She knew that to the North, a civil war had upset the balance. She now wished she'd waited until being stationed there before trying to make a run for freedom – she would likely have been missed in the melee more easily.

She licked her lips, mouth watering. She had not been able to bring provisions this time, and both hunger and thirst were beginning to take its toll. This on top of her intermittent sleep had dulled her senses. With her thoughts reflecting inward, she did not pay heed to the commotion nearby, until it was too late. The sounds of a skirmish ahead caught her attention and she began to run toward the treeline, as her natural instinct dictated. The fighting sounds drew nearer and as she ran through the knee-high grasses she faltered. A horse nearby whinnied in terror and she turned another way, before hearing hoofbeats behind her. Then it went black.

* * *

Tharwen opened her eyes, feeling nauseous, and wanted to feel the bump she was sure had formed on her head. Her hands were tied. She could tell she was on a cart, by the way her body jolted up and down, making her stomach hurt even more. Her vision slowly faded back into focus. She looked to her side, seeing a man bound and gagged, and another in rags like her own, also bound. He looked morose, skittish. The gagged man looked stonily ahead.

She looked ahead, seeing a resigned, but calmed Nord man glancing toward their destination. He looked back to her and his voice seemed strangely optimistic. "Oh good, you're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, weren't you? And that thief over there."

The dark-haired man's anger swelled. "Damn you Stormcloaks..."

Tharwen ignored his little tirade. Theives like this man were all cowards. She didn't heed him, until the Nord reprimanded his insult toward the man in the gag.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the True High King!"

The thief voiced her concerns aloud. With the leader of the rebellion in their prison cart, she had a sinking feeling that the Thalmor would be nearby. And that this time she wouldn't be getting away. She began to think of any way she could extricate herself from the situation. It seemed hopeless. With Ulfric Stormcloak in tow, she was certain the security would be steadfast. Unbreakable.

The carriage came to a halt. Almost wistfully, the Nord glanced at her "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the Gods waiting for us."

She nodded, tacitly, and grimaced in disgust as the thief began to beg and plead with the justiciar. Jumping down from the carriage with her wrists bound was awkward and she felt woozy from her head injury and her lack of supplies over the last few days. He was right. End of the line.

The men were called to the block, one by one. Finally she stood before the Imperial soldiers. The man looked up at her, his face betrayed that he was not happy with what they were doing, but that he was a man of duty and honor. "You, you're not on the list. What is your name."

"Tharwen of Valenwood." Her low voice was clipped, and decidedly unfriendly, though not disrespectful.

"Not many Wood Elves would choose to come alone to Skyrim." He looked over to his superior. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list. "

"She goes to the block."

"By your orders, Captain." He looked back to her. "I'm sorry, we'll make sure your remains are returned to Valenwood. Follow the Captain prisoner."

Tharwen did as she was bid, walking past General Tullius, berating the revolutionary leader. A deep, guttural roar echoed around them, from the mountains nearby. She felt like she had snapped back into reality, feeling very cold and uncomfortable. The company craned their heads to the sky, looking around for the threat.

"What was that?"

"It's nothing! Carry on." Tullius dismissed them with a gesture.

"Yes General Tullius." The shrill Captain saluted him and turned to the priestess. "Give them their last rites."

The priestess was interrupted by the first man to arrive at the block, and he knelt. The executioner lowered the axe, and his head rolled into a wooden box. Tharwen shivered, and saw the Captain look at her directly.

"Next the Wood Elf!"

Tharwen made her way to the block, her mind racing, remembering all of the things she had done to lead her here. What could she have done differently? She wondered if this was the Gods' plan and thought wistfully of the arching groves of Valenwood, the hunting trips with her kin. The roar from before echoed again, louder this time.

"There it is again!"

"I said, next prisoner!" The Captain persisted.

She stumbled her way toward the block, kneeling. Her knees and thighs pressed against the dead body of the Stormcloak soldier, still warm and soft. She laid her head down on the block, already soaked with blood. The Imperial soldier looked at her with regret clear in his eyes.

_At least the blade is still sharp. Nothing worse than being the last at the beheading – what is that?_

Behind the headsman, a black creature flew across the sky. The roar echoed against the walls of Helgen.

"What in Oblivion is that!?"

The creature, black and huge with burning red eyes landed heavily onto the top of the Keep, with such force it knocked down the headsman. Tharwen stared, feeling small and bewildered, looking into the eyes of the first dragon in Tamriel for hundreds of years.

"DRAGON!"

A noise erupted from the beast, and the sky darkened suddenly. Another shout and she felt disoreinted, knocked off the block, her body limp against that of the dead Stormcloak. For what seemed like an age, but was just moments, she lay confused, until the voice of the familiar Nord beckoned her. She couldn't make out all of what he said, her ears ringing and her head pounded. He motioned for her to follow, which she did clumsily, her hands still bound, into the Keep. Around her, the surviving Stormcloaks had gathered, trying to make sense of what was happening. From their gestures and shouts she discerned the need to move. Following the Nord, she ran up the stairs of the keep, before a burst of flame broke through the wall. She hesitated, and followed.

"...jump through the roof and keep going!"

With a leap of faith, she sprang from the hole in the stone column of the keep and landed squarely on the destroyed house, her feet breaking through the roof and into the room below. The smell of smoke and the heat of the burning wood overwhelmed her senses as she ran through the house and into the fray. The sympathetic Imperial man was leading a child to safety, and eyed her.

"Still alive prisoner? Follow me if you want to stay that way." His concern for her was confusing, but she accepted it and followed, obeying his instruction. She could see the carnage surrounding them – the town was lost. She ran past an archer who had caught flame, screaming, but still trying to fire at the beast.

"Ralof you damned traitor!"

"You're not stopping us this time Hadvar!"

The Nord and the Imperial soldiers stood ground. Tharwen wanted to shout at them to forget their differences so they could run. Clearly they knew each other – perhaps they were even related. Civil war was an ugly business. As the Nord turned and ran, she trailed the Imperial soldier, who had by now realized it was no longer worth trying to stop prisoners from escaping. As they entered the soldier barracks, she wasn't listening so closely to Hadvar.

"...I can get those bindings off." He cut loose the bindings, and motioned to the room. "Take a look around. There should be plenty of gear to choose from. I am going to see if I can find something for these burns."

Tharwen rubbed her wrists where the cords had been tied and walked toward one of the many storage chests. She pilfered through it, dragging out a complete set of light armor. It was not as warm as she would have liked for Skyrim's weather, but it would have to do, and she happily put on the leather boots. Her feet were bruised – the foot wraps had been damaged beyond repair in her flight. She also grabbed an iron sword from the rack, thankful to be armed, even if it wasn't her weapon of choice.

"Come. This way."

She followed Hadvar through the bowels of the city, fighting her way through enraged Stormcloaks beside him. As they made their way, she stopped to collect the rabbit and pheasant meat that sat hanging by a fire. She was ravenous, and ate some of it raw as they walked. Hadvar looked somewhat disturbed, but this was not the first time Tharwen had eaten uncooked meat before in Valenwood. It was not unheard of when there were no supplies to make a sustained fire.

Through another door they entered the torture chamber. Tharwen let Hadvar deal with the Torturer and his assistant, who had just used magic to kill another Stormcloak soldier. She rummaged through the knapsack on the table, pulling out more food, some useful potions and several lock-picks. She walked ahead, then waited, as Hadvar tried to get the Torturer to join them and escape. She was glad when he did not follow. The man seemed disagreeable. They made their way down further, facing another small group of Stormcloaks. As she cut down one of the men with a burst of flame, she stopped, and grinned. The long bow was not of high quality, but it would do. She gathered the arrows from the corpse and held the bow ready as she ran after Hadvar.

As they tried to enter a hall, the cracking rumble of a rockslide made Tharwen jump back, the way closed. She followed Hadvar through another door and then crouched, seeing webbing surrounding cavern. Water rushed below them, the air musty and damp. The giant spiders seemed to sense their presence, using their webbing spindle to lower themselves to the floor. She stayed low, and drew her bow, hitting both before Hadvar had reached them. She ran up to them afterward, as he gave her an appraising look, and extracted the venom. They were colored differently than the variation she had seen in Valenwood or Elsweyr, but otherwise were not so different than the quarry she had hunted before.

"Hold Up. There's a bear up ahead I'd rather not tangle with her right now."

Tharwen loosed two arrows before the bear had risen. By the time it saw them, she had loosed another and it crumpled with a growl. Hadvar looked impressed, and she ran to the bear to get its hide and claws. She would have tried to butcher the animal for its meat as well, but Hadvar urged her on. She would use the pelt to make some proper armor as soon as she had the chance.

Only a little ways further, they approached the end of the underground trek. Sunlight spilled into the cavern, and Tharwen winced at the sudden assault. The dragon roared from afar and she and Hadvar instinctively crouched down. She could see the black shape of the monster disappear in the distance. Hadvar stood.

"I think it's gone for good. Let's not stick around to find out." He stood, turning toward her. "Closest town from here is Riverwood. My uncle is the blacksmith there. I'm sure he'd help you out. It's probably best if we split up. Good luck, I wouldn't have made it without your help today."

Tharwen nodded, equally grateful. "Thank you for releasing me."

They went their separate ways. Tharwen ate some of the food she'd pilfered, and held tightly to her long bow. She was glad she was ready – a pair of wolves soon appeared. She quickly shot them down, and hurried on, until she could see the archway of the entrance to Riverwood. She looked around, and headed toward the forge. The man sitting at the grindstone was older, gruff. He looked up at her curiously. "It isn't every day we have visitors in Riverwood."

"Hadvar says you can help me." She said, eyeing the forge. She thought of her bear hide. It would be good if he would allow her to make some armor for herself.

"Hadvar? How do you know him?" He looked incredulously at her.

"He helped me escape from Prison. A dragon attacked Helgen. Hadvar and I escaped together."

He no longer seemed to be as concerned about suspecting her. The news clearly worried him. "A dragon? In Helgen? That explains what I saw earlier flying from the south. I was hoping I was wrong about what it was. "

He stood, halting his work, clearly seeing the gravity of the situation. He mumbled to himself, disbelieving. "A dragon, here in Skyrim. What is this world coming to...?"

He looked up at her. "The Jarl needs to know about the dragon immediately. Riverwood is defenseless. Tell Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send what soldiers he can. If you can do that for me I'll be in your debt."

"I can do that. Do you have any supplies I can take with me? And can I use your forge?"

"Take what you need, within reason of course."

She nodded, and he led her inside. She stored up on cheese and cooked meats, unsure about the other provisions. She did not feel comfortable eating vegetation, and bread just reminded her of her imprisonment. It was still from the earth, and not sanctioned. She may not be in Valenwood, but her dietary habits hadn't made that leap. A little girl approached her while she was inside, asking eagerly about their escape from Helgen. Tharwen tried to answer politely but was blunt.

She nodded to Alvor, and disappeared outside to replenish her supplies of arrows, using already-felled wood. It was the only way, but she felt uncomfortable stripping the bark. Molding the iron tips was easier, and she sharpened the blade of the iron sword. With the bear and wolf pelts she was able to make a simple set of fur armor. She knew it was slightly less effective, but she was not comfortable with the idea of being mistaken for a soldier in this strange land. Better to appear as a rogue. She would need to spend some more time soon collecting the proper materials so she could to make stronger, more protective armor. That would have to wait, though. She wanted to move away from the carnage. It was dark by the time she set out. She was exhausted, but did not feel comfortable enough to truly rest. She drank a health potion that the family had provided for her, and feeling slightly invigorated, she set out for Whiterun.

* * *

**My second play-through of Skyrim. I've decided to document it and control the story, more in a role-play style. Sorry for the repetitive nature of this as I realize it's pretty much scripted thus far. I'm hoping once the story picks up it'll be a bit more individualized. I'm happy to hear comments about the story or just talk about Skyrim (because it's awesome!) **


	2. Jorrvaskr

**12-9-13: **

**Thank you for your reviews thus far! I am finding this takes way more time to write than I thought it would, so the going may be slower than I'd hoped. I'm looking forward to seeing how the character builds with the restrictions I've imposed on myself for Tharwen. **

**Please continue to let me know what I should improve! I've tried to integrate some description of Tharwen in here, but it is difficult to do and remain immersive. I'll also be deviating from the set script more and more - hopefully that is okay!**

* * *

Tharwen had two more kills under her belt, another unlucky pair of wolves, by the time she reached the peak, and in the distance could see a great monument towering over a walled town, it's spires black against the night sky. She stopped at the top of the hill, to rest for a moment. The night air was cold, colder than Cyrodiil only a day's journey south, and much colder than any other place she had traveled. She rubbed her hands together, trying to loosen the tightness the chill had brought. A fur cloak from the coat of one of these hides would be high on her priorities once she could find an opportunity. Skyrim was not a friendly land, so she could not stop to make camp here, especially with her goal so visible.

"Whiterun." She breathed to herself, and approached at a fast-paced walk. She carefully made her way down the rocky slope. In the darkness, she could make out a small skirmish ahead. A giant had wandered too close to the town, and several warriors were there, slashing at its feet, while another stood further afield, shooting with a bow. Tharwen quickly surveyed the scene, then she sprinted toward them, and drew her bow, aiming for the behemoth. Her arrow met the giant's shoulder, causing a glancing blow to miss one of the warriors at the creature's feet. She let loose another arrow, and hit it's back. The warriors closed in and finished him off, while the archer approached her. The woman was tall and slender, with reddish hair and blue warpaint in long, uneven streaks across her face. She was not unlike Tharwen herself- she could tell this woman was an accomplished archer. The wood elf had to look up to meet the woman's eyes, Nords were usually taller than her, but this woman seemed taller than many of the other Nord women she had encountered.

"You handled yourself well. You'd make a fine shield sister."

The Nord's voice was friendly, approving. Tharwen paused, and asked "Shield-sister? What is that?"

The woman grinned. "An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions? We're an order of warriors, brothers and sisters in honor. We take care of other people's problems – if they've got the coin."

The young woman clearly took pride in her work, and her brethren. Tharwen liked her attitude, and smiled. She wondered … "Could I become a Companion?"

The woman shrugged. "Not for me to say. You'll need to speak to Kodlak Whitemane."

One of the men joined them. "You look strong. Come to Jorrvaskr."

Tharwen, nodded, considering the possibility. It would be a good way to earn some funds and having a place to stay with food to eat, even for a short time, would allow her to figure out what to do from here. She doubted the Thalmor would track her to Whiterun, especially after the decimation at Helgen. Perhaps they'd even assume she was dead.

"I'll follow you to Jorrvaskr." She declared. The young woman nodded approvingly, and motioned for the Bosmer to follow. Tharwen walked behind them. As the made their way past the farms and stables outside the city walls, she took in the scenery. Beside the entrance to the city, a small band of Khajiit had set up camp. One seated, cross legged, on a rug caught her glance.

"Khajiit have the wares if you have the coin." The familiar, strange accent of Khajiit called to her. She obliged, and stopped in front of him. The cat eyed her, grinning with pointed canines.

"What have you got for sale."

"Take a look." He smiledtoothily, displaying his items. She looked over them, wishing she had more gold. She sold her extra gear, the Imperial armor, but still did not have enough to purchase the potions or poisons that would have been helpful to her. By the time she had finished her transaction, the Companions had disappeared, but she would find where they went easily enough.

Whiterun at night was lit prettily with torchlight and lanterns. The serenity of this town was a world away from the carnage in Helgen. It was late - only the guards were out, doing evening patrols. She passed an quiet forge, attached to a blacksmith's shop and a little ways further a quaint market square. Ahead she could see the Jarl's palace, and aside what appeared to be the hull of a ship turned upside-down. Between the two, an imposing statue of Talos, the slain snake at his feet, towered above her. A beggar-man was curled up at the feet of the shrine. It had been an age since she had seen a shrine to Talos. The worship of Talos had been banned by the Thalmor and enforced through the Empire, and most of his shrines had been hidden or desecrated. She could sense the Nords took this god seriously, especially to display the shrine so openly. It relieved her, and she thought to herself that the Thalmor must be spread quite thin to allow these shrines to stand. She would be relatively safe within the walls of this hold.

She also couldn't help but notice the large tree in the center of the circle, and wondered why it had died. Must be a temple of some kind nearby she thought to herself. She would check in the morning, Kynareth was one of the Gods she could relate to well. Lavender plants were growing both around the shrine and the decaying Gildergreen tree. As she glanced around, a guard stopped and interrupted her wandering thoughts.

"What is it, Elf?" He asked, pointedly.

Tharwen realized she had been wasting time, and remembered her goal. "Where can I find the Companions."

"Jorrvaskr" He pointed. "Up there. Stay out of trouble, Elf."

Tharwen nodded, and walked toward the strange building. She made her way up the stairs and pushed open the heavy wooden door of Jorrvaskr.

The warmth of the great hearth at the center of the building made her feel at once warmer. The smell of cooked meats and other flavored, well-prepared foods was heavenly. Her stomach growled. The shouting nearby pulled her out of her thoughts and She hung back, watching the Nord woman and Dunmer duke it out, as a group had congregating watching them.

"Watch the eyes!"

Tharwen approached gingerly, seeing a balding man, blind in one eye. The man took notice of her presence, and turned toward her, a scar evident on the left side of his face. His warpaint, two horizontal stripes on each cheek, was faded. His armor looked well-used, but sturdy, and the elf couldn't help but notice the fanged creatures ornamenting the metalwork.

"Don't mind them, just working out some issues," He motioned to the brawlers, adding "In the old way."

The man had an air of authority about him, and seemed to be a leader in a natural way. Tharwen cleared her throat. "I saw a few of your Companions taking down a giant outside of Whiterun. I feathered his shoulder, and I hope I helped in the fight. One of the women said to talk to Kodlak, if I'd like to join – is that you?"

His demeanor became more serious. "You think you have what it takes, huh? Lucky for you, I'm not the one who makes that decision. I'm Skjor – talk to Kodlak. Who knows. Maybe he's in a generous mood." He pointed her toward the other end of the hall. Tharwen nodded in thanks, and walked toward the staircase. Above it, she noticed a display, arranged in such a way it suggested the shape of a mighty war axe. She wondered if it might be a precious relic.

Standing in the stairwell were two of the Companions, the dark elf she'd seen earlier and a burly Nord with dirty blond hair and a beard. The dark elf appraised her, while the Nord seemed to be more friendly in his demeanor.

The Dunmer smirked. "Ah, fresh blood, hope you know how to handle yourself."

Tharwen gave a wry grin, he seemed to be rather forward despite having just lost a fist-fight. "I'll take my chances. Who are you? And can you point me to who is in charge around here?"

"Athis." He nodded, briefly introducing himself. "Soon enough it'll be me. Meanwhile, the Circle handles our daily routine, and Kodlak advises them as Harbinger."

The Nord stepped closer to them, his blue eyes honest and forthcoming. "Name's Torvar. Good to see a new face."

"Nice to meet you both. I'm Tharwen – will let you know more about myself after speaking to Kodlak. You have my thanks."

She hurried down the stairs, into the hall, and kept walking, checking the doors. A few other warriors were about, along with an elderly woman, who was sweeping with a gnarled broom in a corner. She was directed to the end of the hall, and came upon one of the men she had seen fighting the giant speaking with an older warrior, who she could sense was Kodlak himself. She hesitated outside of view, listening to the two men talk. The intonation of their voices seemed to imply that the conversation had taken a serious turn, and was perhaps something not meant for someone yet uninitiated.

"...I still feel the call of the blood..."

"We all do, it is our burden to bear. But we can overcome." The older man, reassuring.

"You have my brother and I, obviously, but I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."

"You leave that to me..." Kodlak looked up, meeting her eyes. There was a faint glimmer, a passing expression as if he had seen a ghost when he saw her, but he composed himself quickly, and addressed her. "A stranger comes to our hall."

Tharwen felt uneasy, and tried to make it seem like she had just walked up. There would be no fooling Kodlak, but perhaps the younger man hadn't noticed. She straightened herself, knowing the days without food and sleep made her looked haggard, less fit.

"I would like to join the Companions. I came across your fellows outside the city gates with a giant. I assisted. I've had training with sword and shield, but I excel as a marksman."

The older man smiled, glancing at the younger man. "Not unlike our Aela, though I am sure she'd be glad to teach you some things. Well then, let me have a look at you."

He stood, appraising her form. She wondered if the lack of sleep had harmed her chances. After what felt an eternity, he finally answered.

"Yes. Perhaps." he touched his beard, "A certain strength of spirit."

The younger man seemed appalled at Kodlak's response. "Master! You're not truly considering accepting her?"

Tharwen stood silently as the two argued. In the course of their conversation, she gathered that this group was fairly exclusive. And that Kodlak seemed strangely invested in her. He finally turned to her.

"How are you in battle, elf?"

"I am capable. I can handle myself." Tharwen didn't feel as though she looked it. The young man's' sour expression seemed to reflect that.

"That may be so. This is Vilkas. He will test your arm." He turned to the young man. "Vilkas, take her out to the yard, and see what she can do."

He took off at a quick pace, and she followed, exhausted. She followed him up the stairs, and out the doors opposite those she had entered. It was already dawn now, and the sun had begun to warm the land. She felt the early morning chill against her cheek, and placed her hand against it, watching as Vilkas stretched and prepared for her test. She approached him, and though he wasn't tense, she could see he was light on his feet, ready.

"The old man said to have a look at you, so let's do this." He drew his weapon, a short sword. "Take a few swings at me so I can see your form."

She drew the sword from her sheath, and grabbed a nearby hide shield, to parry. Training rarely involved live steel in her experience. He saw her hesitate.

"Don't worry. I can take it." His eyes burned, now excited for a little action.

Tharwen took an errant swing at him, glancing off the iron shield. A strand of dark hair fell across her face, obscuring her vision momentarily, but she ignored it, shaking her head to make it move. As Vilkas came toward her, she dodged, lighter on her feet than he. She took another good swing, this time hitting true, though he parried. She was about to swing again, and he sheathed his weapon. His demeanor toward her had improved.

"Not bad. Next time it won't be so easy though."

"Thanks." She muttered, catching her breath. She sheathed her sword, and tucked the tendril of hair into a loop of the braid on the side of her head.

"For now you're still a whelp to us, new blood. So you do what we tell you." He pulled the sheathe and sword from his belt, and handed both to her. She placed the hide shield down, against a training dummy. "Here's my sword. Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. Be careful, it's probably worth more than you are."

As Vilkas turned away she sighed with relief. Currying favor, performing small tasks, was something she could do. If it meant a warm bed and a meal each night while she figured out how to remain undetected, it was well worth it. As she walked toward where she had been directed, Tharwen studied the blade. The steel sword was certainly of superior quality than her own weapon. She pulled it out of its sheathe briefly, and surprised, caught her reflection, though distorted, in the well-honed metal. Her complexion, darker than most of the Nords, was ruddy, and dirty from her travels. Her red eyes were darker than usual, and she looked quite unhealthy – every bit a vagabond. She was surprised they had considered allowing her to join the ranks.

She looked up as she started up the stairs to the forge, and opened her mouth in awe at the giant stone eagle. _This is why it is called Skyforge..._

At the top, a platform the forge itself, impressive and hot as she could feel the coals from far away. A man with long, greying hair had his back to her. Her mind raced at the possibilities. She would hopefully be able to make proper armor here, when the time came.

"Eorlund?" Her voice broke his concentration. He did not seem irritated though.

"What brings you here, lass?"

She held out the blade, bowing her head in respect. "Vilkas sent me with his sword."

"So I'm guessing you're the newcomer then, eh?" He looked her over, and she felt as if he was an honorable, warm man.

She nodded. "New blood, yes. I'm just doing as asked." She suppressed a yawn, and wanted badly to head back, hopefully to find a spare cot. "I have to be going."

Eorlund's voice stopped her from turning to leave. "I have a favor to ask."

"What is it?" She asked.

"I've been working on a shield for Aela, the fiery lass who excels with the bow. My wife is in mourning and I have to get back to her soon. I'd be much obliged if you could take this to Aela for me."

_Aela, the archer woman. Yes. She first suggested I come here._ Tharwen nodded, almost eagerly. "I'd be happy to help."

Eorlund handed her the shield, and she took it carefully, heading down the steps at a quick pace. His admittance of his wife's suffering seemed to indicate something unfortunate – she wondered if they had a son in the Civil War who had recently died. The impact seemed to be widespread - she suspected few in Skyrim had remained untouched by the conflict.

By now the sun had risen above the crown of mountains that surrounded the valley where Whiterun was located. It had been several days with such little rest, Tharwen felt as if she could collapse. She hurried herself to the quarters within Jorrvaskr, and approached the rooms that must hold the Circle. From outside she could hear Aela and what sounded like Skjor speaking in hushed tones.

"...that's not what I'm worried about."

"What then?" Aela insisted.

"They might get themselves killed."

"By you?"

"They should be so lucky," Skjor seemed to laugh as he said it. "Are you prepared for tonight's hunt?"

"I've been thinking we need to be more discreet..."

Tharwen didn't want to be caught eavesdropping twice in one day, and knocked on the door. Aela's face met hers as the door opened. Skjor stood in the background, looking stern as she had seen him earlier. "I have your shield from Eorlund, Aela."

"Ah, good. I've been waiting for this." Aela took the shield from Tharwen, then looked at her again. "Wait... I remember you. So the old man thinks you've got some heart, I guess."

"You know this one? I saw her in the hall earlier, then training in the yard with Vilkas."

Aela laughed. "Ah yes, I heard you gave him quite the thrashing. Do you think you could take him in a real fight?"

Tharwen nodded. Aela seemed easy to speak to. Forthright and with a good sense of humor. Tharwen, smirked slightly, but said "I don't care for boasting."

"A woman who lets her actions speak for themselves. I like that." She paused, and studied Tharwen. As if she had read the elf's mind, she said "Let's have Farkas show you where you'll be resting your head."

Farkas walked up to them, and stood at the doorway. Tharwen could tell immediately that he was Vilkas' brother. "Did you call me?"

Aela rolled her eyes. "Of course we did, icebrain. Show this new blood where the rest of the whelps sleep."

Farkas turned to Tharwen. "New blood? Oh, I remember you. Come on, follow me."

Unlike his brother, Farkas had an easy, soft way of speaking. He spoke of his superiors with admiration but did not act as if he were under them. "Skjor and Aela like to tease me, but they are good people. They challenge us to be our best."

They stopped at the entrance of a room near the stairwell, with twelve cots in all. The furs, though scant, looked so appealing to her that Tharwen already felt the drag on her eyelids, and wanted to climb into one of them. She held her attention on Farkas, "Come to me or Aela if you're looking for work. I do have a job here in Whiterun for you if you'll take it."

She nodded. "I'll take care of it."

He handed her the parchment, "Nice meeting you new blood."

As he walked away Tharwen approached the sleeping cot. Two women were in the chamber as well – the woman who had been brawling earlier eyed her with suspicion as she nursed her wounds, and the other woman looked at her more cheerfully.

"I'm Ria!" She approached Tharwen, with her greeting. Ria didn't appear to be a Nord, like the others. She was slender, with darker hair, darker skin, though not quite so rich as Tharwen's. She guessed Ria was from Cyrodiil. "It's nice to see an new face around here."

The other woman rolled her eyes, scowling. "That's just because you don't want to be the new face."

"Don't mind Njada." Ria said in a hushed voice, shaking off the insult. The young woman seemed exuberant, and untested.

Tharwen, wanting to be polite, asked "What brought you to Jorrvaskr, Ria?"

"Are you kidding? I've wanted to be with them since I was a little girl. Haven't you heard the stories of Kodlak and Skjor fighting off the hundred-and-one Orc Berserkers? Skjor says it was more like forty, but he's just being modest. Where else would I want to be but here? Learning with them, fighting at their sides…"

Njada made a face of disgust as Ria gushed about her admiration for the Circle. Clearly she wasn't as enamored. Njada was a Nord through and through - and she could sense the woman had more experience than the untested Ria. Tharwen decided to let her be - Njada seemed less inclined to deal with anyone at the moment, especially new blood.

Ria's excitement died down, and she noticed Tharwen eyeing the beds. "Oh, sorry! You look like you could use some rest. Will have to show you the ropes soon!"

Ria left the room, and Njada let out a sigh, still ignoring Tharwen. The Bosmer didn't care, and took off the leather boots before climbing into the fur-lined cot. The hide and wood contraption was not terribly comfortable, but after traveling for as long as she had, Tharwen was exhausted. She wondered what lay in store for her, and felt secure that for now at least, she was safe from the Thalmor. Tharwen shut her eyes and fell asleep almost instantly.


	3. The Circle's Secret

**Finally have my new computer and mods set up. Have added a bunch of werewolf mods for the future that I'm sure will come in handy :) So far also added a bunch that are adding other items to the world, so if you have a question about something I describe here that sounds like it's not from the usual game it might be a mod, and you're welcome to ask! **

**I'm trying to deviate away more from the official dialogue. Some of it has remained exactly the same, but I don't want the story to be too boring, so a lot of it is going to start changing, especially to match Tharwen's personal experiences and personality. Please review if you can - I love hearing feedback!**

**Also changing the rating to "T" given how graphic it's getting. **

* * *

It was already mid-morning by the time Tharwen finally rose. She stayed in the sturdy pile of furs and hide, feeling grateful for the security she had been afforded. The elf was still unsure about how she had been accepted by this group, despite her condition upon arrival, but didn't dwell on it. She rolled over, feeling tired, but definitely no longer in a woozy, sleep-deprived state. She ran her fingers through her hair, and grimaced, as they were caught in tangles. She still felt dirty from her long trek from Helgen, but at least she had changed and sold those old uniform supplies. She needed to freshen up, but she would have to wait. She quickly rebraided the two braids along each side of her hairline, so the front of the brown tresses would not obscure her view, but the majority of it was left loose, swinging freely behind her. Maybe she would go for a hunt, and stop at a stream to clean herself off afterward.

Tharwen liked the idea, and grabbed the bow and arrows, attaching them securely to her back, and tucked her iron dagger into her waistband. She knew the Companions would have food for her, but felt as if she ought to contribute to the bounty. She did not want to give the Companions any reason to disdain her. She then recalled the assignment she had been given - she grabbed the folded paper from the flood next to the cot and opened it, glancing over the brief instructions. Someone had to be kept in line. She wondered about the name, but decided she would deal with it later. Surely it was not a matter of urgency, and she could deal with it that evening.

The Bosmer jogged through the quaint town, toward the gate, and nodded to the guards posted there. They mostly ignored her, arms crossed, eyes invisible through their pointed helmets. Overhead the sky was dark, but she could sense it would not rain just yet. The air was cool, but not as frigid as it had been the night she had arrived. She would have at least a few hours until the weather broke.

She crept quietly through the grasses, feeling vulnerable in the scrub-lands. There were very few trees here, as if the mountains to the south stifled them, so that only a select few would grow in the massive valley of Whiterun's hold. It took some time before she finally found appropriate quarry: two large elk, grazing in the distance. Tharwen froze when she spotted them, her red-orange eyes narrowed and she began to judge how close she would have to be before she would get a good shot. She approached silently, but her progress was slow, as she was not as accustomed to hunting so out in the open like this, and the tall grasses tickled against where her skin was exposed on her arms and legs. Still many meters away she saw that they had sensed her. Deciding she wanted to try anyhow, she drew her bow and loosed an arrow toward the flank of the nearest of the animals. It let out a shriek and began to bolt. She cursed under her breath, and in the dim light saw where he went, sprinting as far as she could to catch up, and slowed, catching her breath, as she made a mental note of where the creature went from there.

She followed alongside the edge of a path, looking for impressions in the dirt. The elk couldn't have gone too far, injured as it was. She followed the trail to a riverbed, leather booths sinking into the muddy bank. Tharwen climbed atop a rock, to get a better view, and heard a high pitched, short noise caught her attention. The creature had appeared almost out of nowhere, rising from the edge of the riverbank. Two large crustaceans had spotted the elf, and were snapping at her ankles. Unsure what to do she shot point blank, twice, at the nearest one, and it fell back with a hiss, dead. The other she dispatched as well, and bent to collect the chitin. Across the river she sighted her original quarry, and very slowly stood, silently setting and arrow against the string, and drew the bow. This time her aim was true, and the great animal sank to the ground with a bellow.

She skinned and collected some choice meat from the elk, rolling it in a bundle with her bow and loading it on her back. By now the sun had dipped below the mountains to the West and a few stars began to shimmer in the twilight. The Bosmer's body was not adapted to the chill and she shivered, hurrying back toward the town. Just inside the gates, she came across one of the two Blacksmiths that worked the forges of Whiterun, the young woman who was her first job. She could see that Adrianne had finished her day's work, and heading to do outside chores. With no one around, Tharwen came up to her, greeting her.

"What do you want," Adrianne seemed to be amicable in her posturing.

"I was sent to teach you a lesson." The elf's eyes gleamed.

"You don't scare me! Let's do this." Adrianne threw the first punch, and Tharwen leapt aside to avoid the blow, before swinging one of her own, which connected, but only just. She felt she was backed into a corner, against the wall of the Blacksmith's shop, and she returned a flurry of blows, to counter the Imperial woman's strikes. FInally Adrianne dropped to the ground, and relinquished.

"You know what you have to do." Tharwen put her hands on her hips, unsure of what it was exactly that Adrianne had done to warrant her beating, but she did not want to make permanent enemies of the blacksmith either.

"You got me fair and square." Adrianne nodded, and looked somewhat surprised when Tharwen extended her hand.

"Just business." Tharwen smiled. "I hope you will let me come by your shop sometime."

Adrianne took the elf's hand, allowing the slight woman to pull her up. "I understand. Don't want to lose a customer." Adrianne gave a half smile, "Come by any time."

Tharwen watched her go, rubbing her face where the fist had made impact on her cheek. She cast a simple healing spell, feeling the bone and broken blood vessels mending beneath her skin. She was not a scholar of magic, but she had learned a few simple spells in her lifetime.

Returning to Jorrvaskr, she promptly sought out one of the two dark-haired brothers, to let them know the task had been completed. Farkas was seated at the long table, enjoying a hearty meal of baked potatoes and seared venison. Tharwen swapped out some of her freshly-caught game in the kitchen, and traded it for roast and dried meats, before settling beside Farkas.

"Job's been done." She tore into the cooked meat and savored it. Several hours had gone by and she felt refreshed by both the meat and the mead at the table.

"Good."He gave her a serious look. "Skjor asked me to have you meet with you as soon as you can."

Tharwen finished the meal hurriedly before heading downstairs, into the Companions sleeping quarters. Skjor was walking out of his personal area when she caught up to him.

"Time has come to prove yourself, whelp. We have word that another one of the fragments of Wuuthrad has been located. For your test, we will have you retrieve it." He nodded to Farkas, who was now behind Tharwen. "Farkas here will be your shield brother for this mission."

Tharwen thought back to the monument hanging in pieces just above the stairwell. "I'll do it."

"We're headed to Dustman's Cairn." Farkas said. "Prepare yourself and we'll head out."

* * *

Farkas had left a short while before Tharwen, and as she approached the entrance to the Nord burial site, she heard snarling of wolves. She could see two attacking her shield-brother, and drew her bow, killing one of them with a single blow. The other yelped its last as Farkas plunged his greatsword into the creature's neck. Tharwen ran up to him, but neither spoke. She decided she would retrieve the skins when they returned, and to protect them from scavenging, threw the corpses of the wolves into the pit, before descending herself. The corpse of another vagabond was there already, and she snatched the coin purse out of habit. It took both their strength to push open the heavy iron door. Tharwen took note of the intricately moulded design that decorated the front, a sign she thought she recalled elsewhere.

The air within the Cairn was musty, and smelled of death. As her eyes adjusted to the low-light conditions, Tharwen noticed the dead bodies littering the room, both new and old. At first, it just seemed like the work of common grave-robbers, but upon closer inspection, she could see that not all of the dessicated corpses had just fallen out of their graves. And that the fresh corpses had been killed quite recently. It made her uneasy, and it put her on high alert. She took the lead, crouching low, and moving silently, as she had been trained. She kept her bow ready, though wondered at the efficacy of using such a weapon in these narrow walls.

It wasn't long before she heard the scraping of stone and a menacing growl, unlike any creature she had known before. The burning blue orbs, the creature's eyes, penetrated the darkness, and she instinctually readied and shot her bow. Upon impact, the creature fell to the group, but the commotion had alerted several others in the area. One came up from behind, as Farkas rushed forward to meet the onslaught, and she fumbled with her weapons, grasping for her sword, slashing haphazardly as she cast a healing spell to repair the damage from the attack. It was over in moments, but her heart was beating hard, blood flushing her system with adrenaline.

"Keep an eye out, there will be more Draugr." Farkas cautioned.

Tharwen began to wonder why the Nords bothered to bury their dead so carefully, if they were some readily wanting to come back with a vengeance.

The crawl through the tunnels led to more Draugr, as Farkas had called them. Tharwen began to sense which of these undead were likely to rise - they had decomposed less, were fully armed, and seemed more as if they were sleeping than truly dead. That little spark that was keeping them going kept her attention and she feathered several before they even had the chance to resurrect. She collected the gold from several of them, but did not desire to steal their weapons or armor. The musty smell and her discomfort with these abominations held her back from doing so.

They reached a large room, mostly empty. though it seemed to be blocked off by a gate on the other side and a cave-in at the other. Both of them silently scoured the room, and Tharwen entered the enclave one one end of the chamber, noticing some helpful healing potions and a poison left on an embalming table. Also present, was a lever. She wondered if it might control the door to let them pass, and pulled, feeling the ancient mechanism give way, the stones grinding against each other. The sound of metal scraping against stone behind her caused her to whirl around, to see a heavy, rusted iron grate separate her from Farkas, effectively locking her in the niche.

Farkas had heard the noise, and turned, hurrying over to her. When he saw she was unharmed, though somewhat sheepish at her mistake, he laughed slightly. "Get stuck? Don't worry, I'll have you out in no time-"

He turned, and she heard the voices, angry shouting of a small band of marauders. They jeered at Farkas, and through the cacophony of voices Tharwen guessed at their intentions for her as well. She gasped as she watched Farkas dropped his sword. It hit the ground with a clatter. By the time it'd hit the floor his arms and legs had grown abnormally long, and black hair was spurting from every inch of his body. In moments, Farkas was towering over even the brawny orc warrior that had surrounded them, and the snout, tail and razor-sharp claws could only point to one thing.

"Werewolf!" One of the men in the group attacking them shouted, their voice high-pitched. Farkas swung at them all, clearly taking a hit, but slicing through the armor and flesh and bone with ease. It was a brief and bloody battle - in a matter of minutes, fresh corpses spilled equally fresh blood across the old stone floor of the crypt.

Farkas disappeared then, and the gate before her opened. Tharwen, stood, eyes wide, almost disbelieving what she had just seen. Farkas returned quickly, and seemed unphased by the incident.

"Hope I didn't scare you." He grinned.

"What was that?" Tharwen breathed, incredulously.

He answered, almost nonchalantly. "It's a blessing given to some of us. We can be like Wild Beasts, fearsome."

Tharwen mused over this thought and finally asked, "Are all of the Companions werewolves?"

"Oh no, only the Circle have the beast blood." Farkas turned, "Prove your honor to be a Companion. Let's keep moving."

Tharwen couldn't help but mull over what she had just seen and learned. It reminded her greatly, in some ways, of the Bosmer traditions, and unspoken but infamous rites that happened so rarely, but still impacted her culture in great ways. The Wild Hunt, the great feral, shapeshifted hoard, and it's massive power. The Bosmer respected its use, as the results of the change often were permanent, and due to this, and the devastation it caused, the ritual was not used lightly. She had seen Farkas transform and return to his normal form, though. This change was not permanent, it could be controlled, to an extent. She realized she could take a taste of this for herself, perhaps, if she were to gain this blessing. She could think of nothing more satisfying than transforming and ripping the Thalmor to shreds as Farkas had to these aggressors.

It wasn't long before they ran across more of the marauders, and Tharwen began to suspect that they weren't just run-of-the-mill grave-robbers.

"Who are these people we keep running into, Farkas?" Tharwen kept her voice low.

Farkas answered in his usual, steady pace. "The Silver Hand. They hate werewolves. Stay close."

They crept down the passageway that ended in a molding wooden door. They could already hear more fighting further along, and Tharwen suspected it might be members of the Silver Hand that had stumbled across some of the Draugr. Once the noises stopped, she pressed open the door as quietly as she could, and peered around the dimly lit chamber. She passed by the shriveled body of one of the twice-killed corpses and guessed that it was the living that had prevailed. She heard faint voices, and hid behind a collapsed circle of stone, readying her bow. Farkas was halfway across the room from her, and an archer had spotted him. He grunted with pain, while Tharwen sighted the other archer, and loosed an arrow, hitting the woman square in the chest. Another arrow soon followed, and her body collapsed. Farkas had engaged with another warrior, a man wielding a heavy iron mace, and the two bludgeoned each other. Tharwen tried to get a good shot, not wanting to hit Farkas. Before she had the chance, the larger man cut him down, and looked over to her. They nodded in silent agreement, and Tharwen lifted the gold from their pockets. The air was starting to feel heavy, and she could sense that they were near the final leg of their journey. They heard no more human activity as they delved further, and finally reached another reinforced door.

Beyond it, the room was not the largest they had seen in this crypt, but Tharwen could tell it held special value. A strange sense in the air, she could almost hear arcane chanting, beckoning her to traverse the room. She stepped gingerly, keeping an eye on the upright coffins that lined each side of the room. She felt relief when she had reached the embalming table on the other side of the room, and found none of their occupants had been disturbed.

The closer she came to the curved wall, the louder those voices grew and she could see the ancient writing scrawled there. She reached out, touching the stone, and the letters beneath her hand began to glow. With a sudden force, like a heavy wind, flowed through her and she felt this odd sense, a knowing, that she could not express. She was dazed momentarily, and glanced back at Farkas, who seemed unphased. He hadn't seen what had just happened to her. She wondered if it was the strange magic of this place, and decided not to mention it, trying to redirect her thoughts to the task at hand.

On a raised indentation of the alter, she could see the shard of an ancient weapon, and thought it had to be the right one. She took it into her hand, and wrapped it carefully in her leather skins, before placing it into her pack for safe keeping.

"Good." Farkas nodded. "Now let's go back."

No sooner had the words been uttered when she heard the familiar sound of scraping stone. The scowl of the undead caught her attention, and she drew her bow, aiming for the space between the two glowing orbs. It fell but three more began to run toward them. Farkas ran into the fray, as if without fear. Tharwen leapt on top of the platform of the alter, to gain a vantage point, and began to pick off the Draugr that were running toward them, while Farkas cut down those that were able to get close. By the time the onslaught had stopped, her heart was racing. She turned to Farkas, giving him an incredulous look with her red-orange gaze.

"And this," She panted, "Is why we eat our dead in Valenwood."

He chuckled, and she realized that he and his ilk were likely more willing to understand what many in Skyrim the the rest of the Empire would consider far too morbid. It had been a long time since she had felt comfortable enough to speak of her native traditions, and even longer since she had been allowed to practice them. She had no intention of eating the twice-dead at her feet, but she recalled Farkas's savage behavior when he was in wolf form. She supposed that such a thing would not be looked down upon, should she join them in their more carnal hunts.

Farkas suggested looking for an exit door as many of the dungeons had been designed in such a way that entering them was arduous but those that had to use them regularly would want a simpler way to exit. Their journey to the surface was much less eventful, and Tharwen gladly breathed in the fresh, cold-morning air. She quickly skinned the two wolves that she had thrown into the pit earlier, and wrapped the hides into her pack, before setting off across the plains, Farkas not far behind.

She allowed Farkas to go ahead of her, while she tanned her new hides at Adrianne's shop. She spent some time there, fashioning a stronger hood for herself, to protect her from both the cold and attack. She also fashioned another hood, just for warmth, that she decided to sell to one of the merchants in the marketplace. She stopped briefly, surprised to see the man who sold wild game was one of her own kind.

"Greetings, sister." The elf smiled, "name's Anoriath."

"Tharwen," She shook hands, introducing herself in the way custom of the Nords and other man races – her own customs, she was unsure would be recognized, despite their shared heritage. "Did you get this game for yourself?"

"Yes." He smiled. "I hunt throughout the hold of Whiterun, and sometimes beyond that. You look like a fellow hunter, eh? Well come to me if you ever have meat to sell or if you didn't have such luck finding quarry."

She smiled. "I will be sure to come by."

"Also you should visit my brother Elrindir and I at the Drunken Huntsman. It would be lovely to have another friendly Bosmer face around."

She returned to Jorvaskrr in light spirits, and upon arrival, was pointed toward the outdoor training area. "We've been awaiting your return," Vilkas motioned her to follow. There, the Circle awaited her.

"Brothers and Sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new member into our fold. This woman has endured, has challenged and has shown her valor. Who will speak for her?"

Farkas came forward. "I stand witness to the courage of the soul who stands before us."

The ritual progressed, with Kodlak and Farkas alternating lines.

"Would you raise your shield in her defense?" Kodlak asked.

"I would stand at her back that the world might never overtake us"

"Would you raise your sword in her honor?"

"It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes."

"And would you raise a mug in her name?"

"I would lead the song of triumph as the mead hall reveled in her stories."

"Then the judgment of this Circle is complete. Her heart beats with fury and courage that have united the companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."

The entire group answered in unison. "It shall be so."

The Circle dispersed, and Tharwen found herself alone with the old Harbringer. He looked at her, with that odd sense of familiarity she had seen before, and smiled approvingly. "Well Tharwen, you're one of us now. I trust you won't disappoint."

She was going to hold back, but decided she couldn't. She was too curious about the transformation she had seen in the Cairn. "Kodlak, are the Companions werewolves?"

He nodded, the lighthearted expression now dimmed. "I see you have been allowed to know some secrets. Yes it's true. Not every Companion though. Only members of the Circle share in the blood of the beast.

"You seem displeased with this boon. Are you trying to cure yourself?" She asked, baffled as to why a human would no longer hold interest in such a wonderful power.

"My mind turns toward the horizon to Sovengarde. I worry that Shor won't call an animal to glory like he would a human warrior. Each time we transform, it brings us closer to the Daedric lord of the Hunt, Hircine. Some may prefer an eternity in his hunting grounds, but I would prefer the kinship of the great hall in Sovengarde." He gave her a gentle smile, at her bemused expression. "You don't need to share the worries of an old warrior. Rejoice in your day of bravery! And speak to Eorlund if you'd like a better weapon than that sword you're carrying. His still will sing for you."

She nodded and bowed slightly, unsure if it was proper, before heading up to the Skyforge. There, Eorlund was working away at his steel. She waiting for the right moment before interrupting him, "Kodlak says you have something for me."

"Ah yes," He smiled. "Here, for you. Skyforge steel for you."

The blade was sharp, smoother than the other steel sword she carried with her. She bartered with Eorlund, to sell back her old weapon, taking fewer gold pieces than it was worth, but was happy with her newly forged weapon. Eorlund allowed her to use the Grindstone to hone it, and she felt a bit better about her lot.

* * *

A few days passed, and she busied herself hunting, scouting and perfecting her skills as a blacksmith. She hoped she would soon be able to make armor in the tradition of her homeland once she had practiced and gathered the right materials. Her overall positive thoughts one day were interrupted by one of the guards posted nearby, and she heard him make a comment that recalled a duty she had said she would fulfill.

"... Riverwood. Those poor sods don't even have a wall."

She recalled the gentle blacksmith that had given her supplies and allowed her use of his tools when she had first arrived. She felt guilty then, recalling the missing he had set her on. It had been over a week since she had arrived in Whiterun. She had still not spoken to the Jarl about the dragon attack of Helgen. There had been no more talk of dragons, but it couldn't wait longer than this.

She quickly made her way up Dragon's Reach, and walked past the guard stationed at the door, who wanted to stop her from entering, but thought better of it – the guards inside could certainly deal with her.

Tharwen was stopped by a tall, well-armed Dunmer. "What is the meaning of this interruption? The Jarl Balgruuf is not recieving visitors." She paused. "Wait, you're the new Companion. What are you doing here?"

Tharwen threw up her hands, a sign of non-aggression. "I have information about the dragon attacks on Helgen. Please, let me by."

The Dunmer softened her stance, but kept her weapon drawn. "The Jarl will want to speak to you personally, in that case."

"So you were in Helgen? Did you see the dragon with your own eyes?" He gave her a suspicious look. "I did not think there were many survivors."

She grimaced. "Yes, I had a lovely view while I was about to have my head cut off."

"As long as you're not causing trouble in my hold, it is not my concern." He continued, "Tell me, what happened at Helgen."

"The Imperials were preparing to execute Ulfric Stormcloak and others that had been caught in their raid at the border. Then dragon attacked. It flew over Riverwood shortly after. No one has seen it since."

The Jarl gave a look of disgust and turned to his advisor. "What do you say now, Proventus? Should we trust our walls against a _dragon_?"

The Dunmer, most practical, interrupted. "My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger if the dragon is lurking in the mountains."

"But the Jarl of Falkreath will think we have joined Ulfric and are preparing to attack him!" The advisor sqwaked.

"Enough!" Jarl Balgruuf shouted. "I will not stand by idly while a dragon slaughters my hold. Irileth, send the detachment to Riverwood at once."

"Yes, my Jarl." Irileth saluted him and set out.

"I'll return to my duties, sir." The advisor quipped, before slinking off.

"You sought me out on your own, I appreciate it. You've done Whiterun a great service. There is something more you can do for me, suitable of someone who has the valor of a Companion, and the wits to escape a dragon attack."

He led her to an annex, wherein a robed man stood before an arcane enchanter. There were reams of paper with strange writing, large books and soul gems cluttering the desk. The man turned at the interruption, at first peeved, but seeing the Jarl he retained his composure.

"I could use someone of your..skill set." The mage gave her a look-over. "If you think she's capable."

The Jarl explained the situation, and Tharwen's story. He nodded, interested. "There is an artifact, deep within the crypts of Bleak Falls Barrow. It's near the miserable town of Riverwood, across the river, just north of there. A tablet awaits that could give us valuable information on these new dragon attacks. This stone tablet is called the 'Dragonstone' and should show us Dragon burial sites."

She turned, having tacitly acquiesced to the job. The mage's voice followed her "Off to Bleak Falls Barrow then. The Jarl is not a patient man, and neither am I."


	4. Communing with Hircine

**Enjoy the update! I am glad I accidentally stumbled across this quest - it fits very well with my character's story. Please let me know what you think! (edit: Yes I realize that the other quest item is available, but I didnt want to cheat for this and Tharwen will do as she is bid by a deity she follows). **

**FYI: This contains spoilers for the quest "Ill Met by Moonlight". **

* * *

Tharwen left the Jarl's palace and hastened to Jorvaskrr to prepare for her journey. She did not want to leave unprepared and suspected there might be work for her to do in the holds nearby. She eagerly wanted to join with the Circle, if for no other reason than the benefits of the gift that they had been given to transform at-will into such dangerous, wild creatures. The hunt made her eager. She wanted that revenge when she could have it – and would stop at nothing to get it once she was ready. She couldn't hide with the Companions forever.

In her pack, she placed a fair amount of food, several health potions, and a flagon of tea, as well as her meager sum of gold. She shouldered her pack and attached her bow to her back, now enchanted with a soul snare, and kept her Skyforge steel at her belt. As she was leaving, she ran into Vilkas, who had another job for her.

"Someone down in Falkreath has asked us to teach this man a lesson." He handed the paper to her. "Come back when you've finished the job."

She nodded, and gratefully accepted the package. "I will get to it right away."

She made her way to the entrance of Whiterun, and was about to make the long trek to Falkreath before seeing the carriage preparing to set off.

"Excuse me, where is this carriage bound?"

"I can take you to any of the hold capitals, m'lady." He grinned. "For 50 septims."

She counted her finances mentally, before deciding it was a reasonable enough price and would have her time. She had intentionally set off in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, hoping to make it to Falkreath before the sun reached its zenith. This way she could reserve her energy for the fight and later trek to Bleak Falls Barrow. Tharwen handed the driver her gold, and climbed in. "Falkreath, please."

It was late morning by the time they arrived at the humble hold capital. Tharwen felt more and more at ease as they traveled. The weather was warmer and the forests much thicker in this region of Skyrim, and these conditions felt more akin to Cyrodiil and even Valenwood, though the trees in Skyrim were stunted, sickly dwarves compared to those of her homeland. It was pleasant to be shaded by the over-arching branches again.

She looked over her paper, with the name of the individual she needed to intimidate or, if necessary, brawl into submission.

_Mathies Caerllia..._

She asked around and when she found his farm empty, she was directed to the cemetary. As she approached, passing Falkreath's hall of the dead, she saw more tomb markers than she had seen since she had last gone to battle. She felt baffled, once more, at the Nords' insistence of burial and memorum. She wondered if these dead rose from their graves as she had seen the Draugr do, but doubted it as she felt the power infused into the earth of this place. Strong Necromancy, to keep the souls asleep, must have been used, at least that was her reasoning. She also noticed the temple to Arkay not far and realized that it too could play a role in keeping these dead from waking.

"Mathies?" Tharwen saw him and another woman, standing beside a priest. It appeared that a funeral had just taken place.

"Yea – who be asking?"

"I've come to settle a dispute."

The grief in his eyes made her realize how terrible her timing was. The woman, who could only be Mathies' wife, gave her an enraged glare. "How dare you, on this day of all days!"

Mathies motioned his wife to silence herself and looked at Tharwen coldly. "I can take her."

Their brawl was quick. In his apparent sorry, Mathies fought sloppily. As he was gasping on the ground she stopped, and backed away. He stayed there, and began to sob quietly. The priest had finished the funeral rites and stood to the side awkwardly.

"How could you?" His wife berated. "With what we've been through?"

Tharwen felt a pit of guilt in her stomach. "What has happened? Who was buried here?"

"Our daughter. Only ten years old. He tore her to pieces, like an animal!"

Tharwen merely nodded, letting him vent. "Who did this?"

"The man, if you can call him that, is in the hole until someone decides what to do with him. Foul creature."

The farmer stood up, and closed his eyes, composing himself.

"I am sorry for your loss," Tharwen said quietly, "I'll see if there is anything to be done about it. And I apologize for coming to you in such a troubling time."

He walked away, his wife giving her an unfriendly look, before the couple began the trek back to their farm. Tharwen made her way to barracks and jail – there would be time enough on her return to search for the Dragonstone. She felt that, at the very least, she should try to figure out the situation with the man who killed the child, after she bludgeoned the grieving father.

The guard in the jail nodded approvingly toward her, seeing her cloak. "Hail, Companion."

She gave a polite salute, "Where is the man that killed the child?"

"Sindig? He's down at the end there, in the Hole."

She walked up to the cell door, seeing a man in ragged trousers, covered in dirt and blood, standing across from her. He crept up to the grate separating them, his eyes bloodshot and guarded. "Come to gawk at the monster, have you?"

"Sindig, I would speak with you." She remained a passive expression.

"A little girl is dead because of me. I couldn't control my transformations, and now.. well.. you know what happened."

"Explain these transformations to me." Tharwen pressed. She guesed at his answer, and was not surprised when he revealed it.

"I am one of them, a werewolf. It's my secret and my shame. That's why I wanted the ring, it was said to control my beast. But it only caused my transformations to come over me at the worst of times..."

She stayed silent, listening, as Sindig continued.

"I was trying to find a way to appease Hircine. There is a beast in these lands, large and majestic. It is said that whoever slays this beast can commune with Lord Hircine. I was tracking the wretched thing in these woods and had my accident with that girl..."

"Perhaps I can take the ring to Hircine." Tharwen offered, her mind already filling with visions of glory. Tracking and hunting a great beast was no thing she had not done before. And perhaps, at her appeasing, she could gain a relationship with the god that could give her this amazing ability to transform.

"Take it! Thank you! I don't want anything to do with this wretched thing any longer."

The moment she placed it on her finger it constricted and she could not remove it. She realized she would have to start her hunt, and quickly.

"Bring down the beast and the lord of the Hunt will smile on you." He began to back away. "You should leave. Now. While I still have my skin."

Before her eyes she began to hear the sound of bones cracking and remoulding themselves. A deep growl permeated the jail cells and she turned, hurrying out of the barracks, as she heard the guards rush toward the cell, to try to restrain him.

* * *

After resting at the local inn for several hours, the Bosmer spent the better part of the afternoon climbing through the rocky outcrops beyond Falkreath. The clouds had gathered and it had begun to rain. Tharwen wrapped her padded fur cowl over her head and around her neck, still shivering in the chilled weather as the water soaked her, and made the scant snow in the hills she trekked turned to slush and mud. Although the weather felt miserable, it had the added benefit of making the beast somewhat easier to track. It did not take long before large, angled hoof-prints appeared in the mud. Her eyes gleamed. She could sense she was close.

The rain turned to snow as she climbed, and the vague outline of a great beast became visible, but it was still near impossible to see against the driving snow. The massive, white elk was shrouded in a center of snow-covered pines. Tharwen crouched low, and steadied her bow, trying to aim through the trees. Her arrow flew, and aimed true, but did not finish off the beast in one hit. The animal bellowed and stumbled, but was nimble enough to run, its hooves clattering against the snow-covered rocks. She chased the animal past higher and higher, precariously staying close the edge of the mountainside. Once the animal came into sight once more, she could see it had no where to run, except back toward her. Tharwen held her breath and readied an arrow in her bow, before loosing it. The arrow struck in the animal's chest and it fell. She walked up to the animal, still heaving. Its fur, whiter than the snow, began to stain with blood, and she could see the blue eyes beginning to gloss over, as it lose blood. She quickly slit the animal's throat, letting the blood spill onto the snow. Before she could collect the white pelt, the apparition of the great beast rose from its body and she jumped back.

The ghost bowed its head before her. "Well met, Hunter."

She bowed in deference. "I seek Lord Hircine, is that who I address now?"

"I am the Spirit of the Hunt, just one Aspect of what you mortals call Hircine."

"What service may I offer you?"

"Your fealty is precious to me, mortal. I will make good use of it." He bobbed his great head up and down, before looking at her directly, with the Elk's eyes. "You bear my ring. The one who stole it has fled to what he believes will be his sanctuary. Seek out this rogue shifter. Tear the skin from his back, and make it an offering to me."

Tharwen stepped back and saluted him, in the way she knew. "It shall be done, my Lord."

He seemed pleased. "Fly, my hunter. There are others who seek my favor. A bit of competition. Don't dally while the prey flees."

Before disappearing, a vision of the path she must take flickered before her eyes, to a small grotto in the mountains past a lake to the north of Falkreath. She took a moment to sit, and plan her journey, eating some of the food she had at her disposal.

The rain had stopped by the time she set out, but she could tell there would be few daylight hours remaining. She hurried down the slopes, ending slightly east of Falkreath, before setting her sights Northwest toward the grotto she had been shown in her vision from Hircine. By the time she reached the lake, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, and evening starts glistened in the reddish sky. The grotto was tucked into the rocky hillside, the entrance small, though not difficult to traverse for the Bosmer. As she passed into it, she felt as if she were entering another realm.

The sky was blood-red, the moons dull, and full. Near the entrance, a group of hunters, mostly dead, lay scattered, as if thrown like ragdolls. One, a Khajiit with his back clearly broken, moaned incoherently. The Bosmer slit his throat, to ease his passing, and scoured the bodies for clues and to retrieve the material goods worth carrying. Tharwen tried to keep herself hidden, crouching in the shadows, as she made her way up the winding mountain path within this realm. In the distance, she heard a piercing howl, joined by others. She could innately sense that there were many beasts within these woods.

She finally saw him, as she looked up, the enormous silhouette against the blood-moon. He was standing atop a ledge, his body heaving from his exertions. As she drew nearer, he saw her.

"You! What are you doing here?" His voice was low, but familiar enough to confirm that this was the shifter she had been sent after.

She stood, keeping her hand tightly on her bow. "I was sent by Lord Hircine. To kill you."

"I can't stop you if that is what you must do, Hircine is too powerful. If you spare me, I promise I will never return to civilized life."

"I cannot let you live while others have died and I have been commanded to take you." Tharwen stated. "Good Hunting, Sindig."

He disappeared, leaping down behind the mount he had been atop. She rounded the bend, and heard the sounds of fighting beasts. The grunts of a bear coupled with the werewolf's unnatural growling intensified. The bear sighted her, as if he had lost interest in this larger prey, and bounded toward Tharwen. Her quarry too this opportunity, turning to run. She shouted at the bear, and made a motion, to awaken the inherent magic she possessed. As soon as Tharwen's will hit him, the bear stopped in its tracks.

_Attack._ Tharwen commanded.

The Bear reared up and bellowed, turning and running after the shifter with renewed vigor. Tharwen then used her magic reserves, pushing her influence to summon her familiar. A wolf-like apparition appeared, and bounded after the bear with a howl. Tharwen ran to catch up, bow in hand, as she heard the bear and her familiar tearing into his flesh. As she drew closer, she began loosing arrows, puncturing the thick hide of beast. He finally slumped to the ground, and she approached his limp form, kneeling before her. It did not take long for her to remove the great pelt, before she heard the voice of Hircine, the image of the elk appearing once more.

"Well done, hunter!"

She bowed. "I did merely as I was asked."

"You have found my favor!" The voice sounded gleeful, appreciative. "That skin will serve you well, my child. Look more closely at it, and see that it will protect you from this world's grievances. Good hunting."

The werewolf's hide was transformed into armor, adorned with the face of a great but terrifying beast. Fur shrouded the collar, and inside, silver chainmail was cushioned by another layer of leather and fur. Striking spiked horns jutted from the shoulders, giving off an impressive appearance. She rolled it up, stuffing it in the space between her knapsack, and saw her familiar disintegrate. Before she turned to leave the grotto, the sounds of the bear she had imposed on earlier grew louder. She saw him barreling toward her, and quickly began to move, running low on provisions and not ready to fight another battle so soon.

With a burst of fresh air, she could see it was night, too, in Skyrim, like it had been in Hircine's realm. With no apparent threats, she changed into the gift from Hircine, feeling the pelt conform to her body, almost as if a second pair of skin. The fur provided excellent insulation against the night's cold air.

Tharwen arrived late in Falkreath, returning to the room she had reserved at the inn earlier, and fell asleep quickly. Tomorrow, she would set off for Bleak Falls Barrow - and the Dragonstone.


	5. The Dragonstone

**Hi all - shorter chapter here, but I didn't want to have a hugely massive one that didnt have as much of a singular focus. **

**There is also a mod that is featured in this chapter - if you want to look into it for yourself, it's called "Wolf Follower Dynamic Pet" - he starts out as a baby pup and you have to feed him in game to get him to grow up. (Think of it kind of like a Tomagatchi?) - it's nice because you can also name him! **

**I hope you all enjoy the newest installment! **

* * *

Tharwen set off mid-morning, catching a passing caravan toward Whiterun, and hopping off at the intersection that branched toward Riverwood. She climbed the mountain adjacent to the trail, keeping the trail in sight, but keeping herself hidden from it. The weather grew colder as she climbed, and she was thankful for the warmth of the skin she had earned from Lord Hircine. As she approached the great stone arches of Bleak Falls Barrow, she could hear human movement. She suspected rogue bandits likely had taken shelter here. She could see three individuals patrolling, one that was closer to her, at the bottom of the stone stairs leading to the entrance of the tomb.

Tharwen edged closer, and peeked out from behind the rock she was sheltering behind, before drawing her bow and picking him off. She had readied another arrow for the others, but they had seen their comrade fall and drew their weapons before coming to investigate.

The wood elf backed into her hiding spot, drawing her energy again to summon her Familiar. The wolf apparition immediately sprang upon the bandits. While they fought off the spectre, she feathered them, bringing them down before the Familiar had vanished.

Tharwen lost no time, making her way to up the stone steps, worn by time, wind and abuse. She nearly slipped near the pinnacle, as the smooth stone had been coated with slick snow and ice, but maintained balance, using her bow to regain equilibrium. She tread lightly, approaching the iron door, and pushed against it, the cold metal against the exposed sites in her armor chilling. She entered the outer chamber, and crept through the passage leading to an open space of the outer sanctum of the tombs. A fire crackling further in indicated the presence of more rogues, likely tomb-robbers. She stayed hidden behind a pillar nearby, overhearing snatches of their conversation.

"..get that rat. We should have gone in after him already."

"Let the draugr deal with him, and see how swift he really is. He won't last long on his own, the sniveling bastard…"

"I'll gut him like a skeever when I get my hands on him. Or anyone else who gets between me and that treasure."

Tharwen weighed her options, and decided that she didn't want to run into them later - and hoped she could make use of their supplies. The Bosmer was no cruel, but her cold calculation was brought into her after conditioning from her service with the Thalmor. Although the Wood Elves were a friendly people, their approach toward enemies and the emphasis on calculated assessment from her Altmer superiors during her time as a soldier had made her unashamed to use almost means to progress. She was not heartless, but her separation from empathy and work kept her from feeling guilt for cutting down those who stood in her way. And, unfortunately for them, these bandits held no purpose or camaraderie for her. They were not noble enough to spare, and she had a task to complete.

Before they could react to her presence, the two bandits fell to the floor, dead. Tharwen quickly searched the bodies for coin and the foods she could stomach. She felt at odds - the Thalmor had tried to "civilise" the Bosmer soldiers, enforcing rules to prevent many of their traditional methods. They had been banned from consuming the flesh of their enemies, punishment being exceedingly harsh. They had been offered much more bread and other plant products that their bodies had not been accustomed to, both to keep them weaker and to make them fit in with the Altmer paradigm. The internal conflict still kept her from gorging the enemies of the races of men and mer, but she wondered about what she could do, as a wolf beast.

Tharwen consumed the charred meat that was roasting above the pit, also taking a few swigs of ale from one of the unopened bottles. Sufficiently satiated, she moved on, down into the passageways that lead to the bowels of the tombs. It took little time before she heard the now-familiar sound of the Draugr. She realized then that her talent with archery may not suffice for her here, in these narrow corridors with the undead. She had no shield brother with her on this journey.

She picked off Draugr that she could, aiming for those that appeared more lively than those that had already gone to the next world. Many of the corpses shuddered upon impact and collapsed without ever getting a chance to see the assailant. More than once, Tharwen found herself face-to-face with a Draugr that patrolled the narrow halls, and pulled her sword to defend herself.

The first stumbling block arrived when Tharwen arrived at a room that was locked on the other end. She observed as the man inside arrange three stone tablets and proceed to a large lever within the room. As he pulled it, dozens of darts assaulted him, and he fell to the ground, twitching before he went limp. The elf blinked incredulously, and tried to determine what to do. She inspected each of the stones and saw the symbols repeated elsewhere in the mouths of bearded statues. She rearranged the tablets several times before finally committing. She jumped toward the lever and pulled, running forward as she did so, hoping to escape the brunt of it, and that her own natural poison resistance may prevail. No darts came for her, and she sighed in relief, walking through the now opened gate.

Upon entering the next level, Tharwen, struggled to cut through thick, fibrous webbing. She stopped to wipe the blade of her sword, and grimaced, remembering the giant arachnids that had been attacked her and Hadvar as they escaped from Helgen. The ancient tombs had a musty, old smell, but here, she could smell fresher decay. It was unsettling, and evidence that there was a living beast made it clear that there were more than the undead to fear. It wasn't long before she passed a skeever that was thoroughly surrounded in spider's silk, its body little more than a brittle husk. She rounded the corner, finding her way blocked, the hallway coated in the sticky, thick webbing. As she cut through the first layer, she heard a voice from the depths.

"Is someone coming? Is someone there?" THe voice sounded strained, weakened. "Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? I know I ran ahead with the claw, but I need help!"

Tharwen didn't answer him, and listened for the web's maker as she hacked her way through. As she cleared the last layer of the webbing, she could see the man was bound, wrapped up in the webbing.

"Oh no not again!" The man lamented, and she looked toward the ceiling. An enormous spider, larger even than those she had seen in her earlier excursions, dropped down before her. She used her sword, slashing into it's hard exoskeleton, and used the torch in her left hand to singe the beast. The fire of the torch eventually caught the fibers on the spider's shell and began to blaze. It made a high-pitched keen and she stuck the blade into the creature's mouth, twisting it, before the animal dropped. She let the man stay in his webbed cocoon and drained the contents of the spider's venom sacks into an empty bottle - Bosmer were no strangers to the benefits of poison.

"You did it! You killed it! Hurry, cut me down! Before something else comes."

Tharwen stopped in front of him. "Why should I?"

"I have the claw - and I know how to use it." He pleaded, "I'll split the treasure with you!"

She pulled her dagger free, and cut into the webbing delicately, to avoid slicing into the man's skin. "Very well."

He collapsed from his own weight upon being freed, and recovered for a few moments. Before she could offer him a hand he bolted.

"I'm not sharing that treasure! Not with you, or anyone else!"

She grumbled, and began to go after him, wondering why she hadn't just cut him down as soon as she'd killed the spider. It did not take long before she could hear him, screaming. He clearly had run in up with the Draugr, and had little to defend himself with. She waited until she heard silence. As she suspected, his body lie crumpled against the wall. The Draugr began to shuffle away from the body of the thief and Tharwen quickly put them down. She searched the thief, retrieving a large, obtuse golden claw, with strange symbols inscribed on the palm, as well as a short journal scrawl from the thief. She pocketed both of these things and headed on.

The Bosmer finally reached a door leading to the main chamber. Along the walls a relief had been etched into the stone, with magnificent detail, showing the exaltation of what Tharwen could only guess would be heroes of old. She examined the stonework as well as the final door, with its three rings, and pondered, guessing that this, like the other symbols, required a certain order to them lest she end up harming herself in the process. She finally thoroughly observed the claw itself and decided it was as clear as she was going to get for guessing the code. She followed the pattern on the claw's palm, and wedged the golden claw into the keyhole, twisting it till the stone gave way. She heard a reassuring rubbing of stone on stone, and backed away, as the door dropped down, revealing a cavernous space.

She crept in the shadows on the edge of the room. There were no apparent dangers here, just a lone coffin that remained silent and unopened, as well as a massive curved wall as she had seen in her test with Farkas. The familiar, eerie chanting began to call her again, and she had a harder time ignoring, it, pacing toward it as quietly and quickly as she could, before feeling that sudden rush of knowledge again, though it felt intangible. Tharwen breathed deeply, unsure of this ancient Nord magic, but it did not feel malignant, and she would accept what was given to her. She turned, and saw that a Draugr was rising from the coffin, the lid displaced. With a sudden strength of will, she ran up to it, and drew her sword, cutting it down as it tried to stand. It parried back at her, less weak than many she had encountered thus far, but her initial blows had weakened it substantially. It feel, now lifeless, and she saw in the tomb where it had risen, what could only be the tablet she was sent to find. She placed it carefully in her pack, and made her way toward the light shining into the cavern, to escape from the musty tomb.

It was late evening when she emerged. She had lost track of time while underground, and gratefully heaved in the fresh, cool air. Given the time of night, and her current burdens, she decided she woudl see if she could stop by Riverwood, perhaps stay at an Inn for the night, before heading back to Dragonsreach.

* * *

After speaking to Alvor, who thanked her profusely for her service, and seemed relieved that guards had arrived earlier that day, Tharwen sought out the Sleeping Giant Inn, hoping to fill her belly with mead and enjoy a well-earned rest.

The inn was rather quiet when she arrived. A man behind the counter looked at her grimly as she approached.

"I'd like to rent a room for the night, please." She began to rummage for her coin purse.

"Don't bother. Inn's closed."

"Why?" Tharwen asked, her face showing her disappointment. "Where is the Innkeeper?"

"Sorry, lass. Delphine is out. I can't say when she will be back. You're welcome to sit at one of the benches and lay your head on the table – no one will bother you."

Tharwen thanked him, and headed back outside. She walked back toward Alvor's home, and he acquiesed to her sleeping in the cellar, where at least it would be warm and dry. The elf slept for only a few hours, before deciding it was a good time to return to begin the trip back to Whiterun. Staying adjacent to the path, she took her time trekking, peeling and eating the soft meat from mudcrab legs as she walked, leaving the shells behind her. Before too long, she came upon a wolf carcass, and set about preserving the pelt - it was relatively fresh, and she saw no reason to waste the hide. As she skinned the animal, she noticed it had recently had pups. Tharwen knew the pups would soon die, and wondered what had happened to them.

A soft whimpering from her left drew her attention. The pup, only the size of it's mother's head, was lean in appearance, clearly having not eaten in a while. Tharwen offered the creature a bit of the venison she had cured earlier. It tentatively reached for it, before tearing from her hands and gulping it down. It looked at her expectantly, and she dropped another piece for the wolf.

Tharwen had seen plenty of dogs since she had come to Skyrim. Would a wolf be so different? Perhaps she could train him to help her in her hunting forays. And, he was wolf, the same animal spirit as her new friends. Perhaps it was another favor from Lord Hircine. If that were the case she should not let this animal die. She offered the animal another scrap of food, this time, he was drawn closer and snapped it out of her hand, but didn't back away.

"What shall I name you, eh little wolf?" Tharwen grinned at him, her eyes dark in the pre-dawn light.

She remembered the poor soul she had been commanded to pursue. The wolf that had given her this wonderful hide to protect her from magic. She looked at the immature wolf and decided the name would fit well.

"Sinding? How does that sound?" She offered him another piece of meat, and he stayed by her, whining for more. She withheld, not wanting to overtax his stomach, but offered some of the milk she had carried with her. The pup no longer backed away in fear, drawn by the natural force of the Bosmer's ability to call to animals as well as the promise of food and care. Tharwen patted his head, and walked a few paces. Sinding followed, bounding after her. She smiled, and set off at a slower pace for Whiterun.


	6. Hircine's Blessing

**12-20-13**

**Another update! I am trying to make a departure from scripted dialogue. Let me know what you think! I hope I stayed true enough to the characters. I am finding I am playing too far ahead. I'll try to catch up while I'm away from my PC during Christmas time. **

**Thank you for your reviews :) **

* * *

"Took you long enough! Falkreath isn't exactly a long journey." Vilkas admonished, "And why do you have a little wolf pup?"

Tharwen set Sinding down on the packed dirt of the training courtyard. He cuddled up against her, fearful of the others. The little wolf had become very comfortable with the Bosmer on their returning trek, and Tharwen had even carried him for the last leg of the trip, as he had been too exhausted to keep moving.

"This is Sinding, Vilkas." She made a brief introduction. "I found him next to his dead mother on my way back from Riverwood. And I figured he would be a good...fit...given the circumstances."

He rolled his eyes. "Why, exactly, were you in Riverwood?"

Tharwen went back over the story to explain the errand the Jarl's mage had sent her on, as well as her completion of the task that Vilkas had asked of her. She reluctantly explained her encounter with Hircine, but glossed over the finer details. His expression was stern, as it usually was, and she stood back, awaiting judgment. He said nothing for a few moments, and seemed to search for what to tell her. "Skjor wants to talk to you. I'd make it quick. And make sure this welp doesn't cause any trouble."

She bent down and picked up Sinding as Vilkas walked off, to advise the sword-arm of one of the other new-bloods. Tharwen made her way to the barracks, setting the wolf down on the pile of furs she usually slept on, and hand-fed him a piece of meat. As she did so, she imbibed in him a sense of what was acceptable – he seemed to eye her with understanding of the "rules" of his new pack. A Bosmer could override an animal's free will even when they were actively under attack, and cooperating with an animal that liked her was easy for Tharwen. She patted the wolf and he curled up, falling asleep quickly. She did not see Skjor, and decided she would rest for a few hours. After all, Riverwood's inn had been closed and she had caught precious little rest from Alvor's home.

When she woke, she helped herself to some dried meat, feeding a morsel or two to the wolf pup, before ordering him to stay, while she sought Skjor. It was late in the afternoon now, her nap had been a short one. Skjor looked pleased enough to see her, but his voice was hushed. "Meet me in the underforge tonight. Don't tell anyone."

He left, and went about his business, leaving Tharwen to ponder what he wanted to speak to her about in such secrecy. The weight in her pack reminded her of her duties, she needed to speak to the Jarl's mage and deliver the Dragonstone. The little wolf didn't want to stay put, so she allowed him to follow her up up the steps to the Jarl's palace. The guards gave her a look, but since the animal was so slight and Tharwen donned the cloak of the Companions, they didn't say a word.

Farengar was not alone when Tharwen arrived. She stood by, listening as he and an older woman were immersed in conversation. Tharwen caught a line or two about ancient history, and just couldn't focus enough on what they were talking about, until they shifted the subject to the here and now.

"...isn't some theoretical question. Dragons have come back."

"Of course, yes, Delphine. But let me show you something else...it may be of interest-"

The woman caught sight of Tharwen, and cut him off. "You have a visitor."

Farengar whirled around and seemed somewhat startled. He recovered himself after a moment. "My that tool less time than I anticipated - and still in one piece. That is impressive."

Delphine woman didn't look entirely impressed, but she nodded with faint approval, as Tharwen handed over the stone tablet she had acquired. She headed toward the enchanting table.

"May I?" Tharwen set her bow down across the pentagram, and pulled a small soul gem from her pack.

Farengar nodded and returned to his conversation with Delphine, who eyed Tharwen suspiciously. The woman's gaze made Tharwen uneasy. She was hidden, shrouded in dark clothes, but the sharp look in her eyes let the elf know that Delphine was not to be trifled with, and was a hardened warrior. She drew her attention back to her enchantment, and extracted the charm that had been imbibed in the sword she had retrieved from the Barrow. The weapon was ruined, but she had little use for an old, rusted sword. The bow glowed with a bluish tint momentarily, as the enchantment was transferred onto it. Tharwen loaded it on her back, and made her way out of the palace, running into Delphine, who had also set out. The Breton woman, upon closer inspection, was certainly past her youth, but Tharwen was certain she was as fierce as a sabrecat, and strong as steel. Despite the peasant's clothing, the way she moved gave away her abilities, though why she hide them, Tharwen could not guess.

"I appreciate your help, but back off, elf." She spoke teresly, before pulling the hood back over her head, and traipsing out of the great hall. Thawen watched her go, giving her space. Before she left, one of the servants stopped to let her know that she should speak to the Jarl for a reward. Tharwen thanked them, but decided to keep moving. Daylight was waning, and she was expected by Skjor.

She took dinner at the large table in the hall. Ria and Athis were seated nearby, engaged in a discussion about the merits of the battle axe versus the mace. She prepared and ate a selection of elk meat she had hunted several days before, and fed scraps to Sinding, who sat at her feet under the table. As she finished her meal, Skjor walked by.

"Follow me. Leave the welp."

She lured the wolf into the chambers she slept, putting him at the foot of her bed with a full belly, and returned to Skjor, who stood beside the stone facade beneath the Skyforge. As she reached him, he looked around, moved the stone slab aside, and bade her enter. They closed the path behind them, keeping well concealed, and she let him lead her through a short, cramped pathway in the rock. As they entered the larger chamber of the cave, she could hear heavy breathy, and saw, as Skjor moved away, a large, unmistakable beast.

"I hope you recognize Aela." Skjor grinned.

Tharwen nodded. "I can sense it."

"The others have been turning their back to this blessing. Kodlak wants to get himself 'cured'. I knew you would be a good hunter as soon as I saw the prey you brought with you in the early days, and after Vilkas spoke to me about your interaction with Lord Hircine, and your taming of the wolf pup, I feel that you were meant to join us, Shield-Sister."

Tharwen was brimming with anticipation. Aela stood before her, her eyes now ringed in gold. Aela was paler than Farkas had been, more grey with a light stomach. The power emanating from her was palpable, and up close for the first time, Tharwen could see the rippling muscle and a pungent scent that was both man and wolf and neither.

"To join us in the Circle you must partake in the beast's blood. Are you ready?"

"I have been eagerly awaiting this blessing," Tharwen was brimming with excitement.

Skjor walked toward Aela , making an incision along her forearm, and allowed the blood to seep into an ancient stone basin, smoothed with time and stained with the blood of others before them. Once a fair amount had accumulated, Tharwen approached the basin, and dipped her hand into it, bringing a handful of the warm lifeblood to her lips. The sweet, metallic taste, familiar enough to any Bosmer, was touched with a more potent flavor, that gave her shivers. Tharwen kept drinking, handful and again, until she had to use her fingers, licking them clean, to get as much of it as she could, so the ritual could be complete. As she backed away from the pedestal, she felt dizzy, almost nauseous, and leaned against the cool surface of the cave, and blacked out.

* * *

_Running, faster than ever before, loping across the tundra. Deer flesh, bear flesh, torn asunder. Blood on my maw, flesh in my claws and teeth. Revelry! The HUNT is on. Sheer joy and exuberance, fleeting and more fleeting. The earth and loam, the scents of marked earth by wolves and sabrecats and cave lions. None challenges me, all fear me._

* * *

Tharwen woke, dazed and nude, with Aela's voice in her ear. She shook her head, still not able to hear Aela, and felt suddenly deathly cold.

"Good, you're awake." Aela handed her Hircine's hide, her boots and her pack."

Tharwen rubbed her temples. "What happened?"

Aela retrieved Tharwen's bow as she explained. "You have been born into the pack, sister. I envy you. That first time is always so ...intense. You have us a lot of trouble, you know. It was even worse than when we turned Farkas."

Tharwen grinned, and finished dressing. "So I'm a werewolf now, then? I can change whenever I please?"

Aela shook her head. "You have the blood now, coursing through your veins. But you'll need to build up strength before you can shift again. Be wary of the full moon - it's almost impossible to resist the call to the blood. Many people will not accept you in that form - be wary of with whom you share the knowledge of your gift."

Her eyes seemed to show a touch of pain. "Few will accept you for who you are."

Tharwen understood but didn't reply, understanding that hiding was exactly what she had been doing all along and hiding another aspect that gave her power was nothing to her. She finished dressing herself, feeling much warmer now. She pulled the torch from her pack, and used Aela's to light it. Aela started on the move, and Tharwen trailed after her. After a ways, Tharwen realized they were in an area she had never seen before.

"Where are we going?"

"Some Silver Hand are holed up in Gallows Rock. They're always such easy targets."

After a bit longer, Aela motioned for Tharwen to douse her torch. The two of them Approached the Silver Hand's hideout with bows readied, keeping a keen eye out for those positioned outside. The two women spotted the first target. Aela had him down before Tharwen could loose her bow on their next target. Once they had caught wind of the attack, those left began to search for them. Aela charged in, while Tharwen hung back, shooting down another, before fully entering the fray. Aela made quick work of two of them. A large orc had caught up with her near the top of the wooden ramp that had been built over the decaying stone fortress of the fort. Aela held her own, but Tharwen saw the opportunity, and shot him several times before he fell at Aela's feet. As sudden as the class had started it was now over. Snow fell around them gently, amplifying the deathly quiet following the fight. The elf followed Aela to a decayed wooden door. She pushed it open and silently both women disappeared into the darkness of the fort. A limp, dead body was apparent beside them, and ahead the way was blocked by sturdy iron poles.

"Cowards." Aela spat. "Probably locked the place up after Skjor charged in."

Tharwen searched around the room with Aela, before finally finding a pull-chain to bring down the spikes. They proceeded past half-eaten and rotting food, dead skeevers until reaching a crowded messy room with several sitting around an outdoor style cooking fire. Tharwen shot down one of them, hiding in the shadows, and Aela charged in, cutting down the other man. The Nord woman's fiery, wild spirit, which Tharwen recalled from her own experience as the wolf, reflected in her delight at the bloodshed. Aela loved what she did. She was brutal, but she was not a cold killer, like Tharwen's Thalmor masters. Her blood burned in her veins and coursed with vigor as she cut down her prey. Aela did her work joyfully, relished it. Tharwen wondered if Skjor was equally enthused.

Though both felt exhilarated, they kept quiet. Tharwen felt as if she were coiled, ready to pounce at the first opportunity. They arrived at a long corridor, an archer leisuring eating his meal at the end of it. Two werewolves were locked in nearby cages, one hanging limp, the other pacing, its growling incoherently.

Tharwen shot the man from where they entered the hallway, and he fell back from his chair from the impact, dead. The two crept through, and Tharwen helped herself to the health potion she found on the table the archer had been sitting at. Tharwen had also tried to open the door to the cage, to allow the living werewolf to escape, but Aela stopped her.

"We don't know him. We can't trust him."

They pressed on, and Tharwen sensed they were near their destination.

"The leader here is a tough one. They call him the skinner." Aela's tone was low, and she spoke with clear distaste.. "I don't need to tell you how he got the name."

Tharwen peered into the room, and watched for a few minutes, gauging the situation. One woman, who was unusually muscular, was tanning a hide, while another was gutting a werewolf that had been killed, and lay on a table. A third man in the room sat next to the fire blazing in the corner. Tharwen steadied her bow, and aimed at the woman at the tanning rack. The arrow glanced off of the woman's armor, though denting it. She stood up, and turned. Tharwen readied her bow again, and Aela charged in, meeting the Skinner head on. Tharwen's second arrow hit true, and the man cleaning the carcass fell dead as he had turned around. The room was too small for this chaos, and Tharwen was forced to replace her bow with her sword, and parried just in time to avoid the blow from the third Silver Hand that had been present.

She lunged her sword toward him, shouting in her native tongue, and the sound of steel on steel echoed in the chamber. The fight was not long, but Tharwen was battered, and saw Aela crouching on the floor as the Skinner turned toward her. Tharwen came from behind, and drove her sword into the exposed back. The Skinner fell, and blood began to pool around her. Tharwen approached Aela, handing her a healing potion. Aela nursed the wound in her side, and sighed in slight relief, as it quieted, and healed from the potions effects.

When Aela finally stood, she walked toward the center platform, and fell to her knees once more. Tharwen wondered if she had missed a vital injury, but once she saw what Aela knelt before, she knew that no potion or spell would be able to ease the pain. Skjor's limp body was propped against the table where the werewolf carcass lay. His signature armor was scratched, battered, and bloodied.

Aela stood. "Those bastards…." Tharen watched her struggle to hold back tears. Her voice was hoarse and she shouted, as if berating his spirit. "He should not have come without a shield brother."

Tharwen moved toward her timidly, and Aela shoved her away. "Get out of here. I'll make sure the rest are dead and see if I can learn anything useful."

Tharwen picked up a stray arrow, and placed it back in with the rest, lingering, not wanting to leave her new friend in such pain.

Aela turned, her lip curled. "We have work to do. Go back to the Hall. The Silver Hand will tremble at our presence once we've doled retribution."

"I think it would be best if I waited-"

"No." Aela growled. "Leave me!"

_Perhaps it wasn't a rumor after all._

Tharwen waited a moment more, before finally turning to exit. She could hear muffled crying as she disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, and once she reached the outside of the fort, the cold wind seemed worse than it had before. She walked back, alone, in the darkness, and thought she could hear the faint keening howl of a lone wolf.


	7. Dragonslayer

**1-03-14**

**Sorry for the long wait - I had a busy holiday season and did more playing than writing :x I hope this chapter isn't too disjointed. Also please note that this has begun to become fairly gory. If you feel I have set the rating too low please let me know and I'll adjust accordingly. **

* * *

Tharwen kept herself occupied with whatever work she could find in and around Whiterun in the days that followed. In several of her assignments, especially when fulfilling a bounty, she utilized the power of her beast form, relishing in the raw power it garnered. She was little concerned with coin anymore; her essential needs were provided for and should she need anything else, she could always hunt the game outside Whiterun.

After one of her missions for Aela, now bent on sending the entirety of the Silver Hands to Oblivion, Tharwen made her way back across the plans to Whiterun. She had not needed to deploy her beast in this instance. She had brought Sinding along with her on this trip, and the pup followed behind eagerly. He had grown somewhat in size, now large enough to follow her attacks or serve as a distraction. He had come to a silent understanding early on and followed her cues beautifully.

As Tharwen walked the road, from afar, she could see a group of three Thalmor departing from the Imperial fort near Whiterun. She froze, and drew the hood over her face as well as her cowl, to mask her identity, before urging herself to move onward. A deep shaking feeling began to overcome her, and she shuddered. The rage of her captivity had been awakened. Sinding growled, feeding off of her energy. The Thalmor agents walked past her, barely giving a second glance. Tharwen looked around wildly, and saw no others nearby. In an instant, she ran, far off the path, and sank to her knees, before the bones in her body started to crack and rearrange themselves. Her face jutted forward, fur sprouting from her body, and she felt the beast overtake her.

The Thalmor's scent was easy to trace, and Tharwen barreled toward the last in the line. Before he could even react, Tharwen bowled him over, and slashed open his throat with her claws. A shock singed her fur and Tharwen looked up, her muzzle covered in blood, before pouncing the Altmer wizard who had struck her. This one did not go down so easily, and she found herself worrying his arm that he shielded, while jetting more electricity at her body with his free arm. She felt the crack of a mace barrel into her back, and howled in pain, before taking a final swipe at the wizard and disemboweling him. With adrenaline-induced fury, Tharwen leapt onto the last of the agents, and tore into his armor, before digging her maw into his body, finishing him off swiftly. For the first time since her training at their hands, she felt she was able to finish what was required of her as a true Bosmer, that followed the Green Pact. She indulged, and began to eat the three bodies. Sinding assisted, and she had glutted herself by the time she felt the change beginning to slip away from her.

Tharwen ran for cover behind some nearby boulders, and collapsed as she shifted, returning to her natural form. She washed herself in a nearby stream , the blood flowing off of her skin. Her body felt healthy, vibrant, despite the abuse she'd been dealt. It was as if coming out of beast form had restored her in every way. She took a deep sigh of relief, and gathered her things to return to Whiterun.

* * *

"Come quickly! A Dragon is circling Whiterun!"

Tharwen's meal was interrupted by the plea of one of the Jarl's servants. Most of the members of the Companions were out on assignment. Only Tharwen and Athis sat at the table, while others were in the practice yard.

The servant came directly for her, eyes wild "We need YOU - you saw the dragon at Helgen. The Jarl suggested you would know more than anyone else does! Irileth says to meet you at the old watchtower. Please hurry!"

Tharwen and Athis exchanged glances. He looked at her with a newfound awe, but briefly. Tharwen grabbed her bow and strongest arrows, and called for Sinding to join her before bursting out the doors of Jorrvaskr. She sprinted her way through the town, most of the people were either inside or hiding, but staring toward the sky, trying to catch a glimpse of the great beast.

Tharwen couldn't see any dragons while she made her way to the guard tower. Irileth approached her as soon as she'd arrived, looking seriously. "It's circling there, in the distance, but my men say it came through with a wall of flame less than an hour ago."

The silhouette of the great creature began to grow larger as Tharwen watched it, fast approaching them. The Dunmer began to bark orders, but Tharwen could hardly hear with the sudden roar of the dragon as it swooped, a gust of flame spouting from it's maw. The screams of several caught in the blaze caused tharwen to shudder, and she drew her bow, trying to get a clear shot of the beast. It landed across the tower from her and she sprinted toward it, readied her bow and began to fire a flurry of arrows. The arrows rained toward the dragon, but it seemed barely perturbed, though its face was marked with evidence of melee damage. Its maw was covered in blood.

"Take any shot you can get!" Irileth's voice was hoarse, and Tharwen looked around, trying to see where the beast would land. Smoke burned her eyes, and she felt almost as if she were back in Helgen again. She coughed, and then could hear the sounds of wings overhead. She looked up, and fired, into the dragon's belly. It screeched, and shouted in a deep, booming voice.

"**THURI DU HIN SIL KO SOVANGARDE**!"

Tharwen gulped, seeing flame erupt only paces away from her, burning the dried grasses.

"**BRIT GRAH**!"

Tharwen made her way to a fallen battlement, and climbed her way up the stone structure, to clearer air, and saw the dragon had landed nearby. She drew her bow, and aimed, shooting the creature's eye. She could see another flurry of arrows, and ran toward him, the tail lashing toward her as she approached, and pulled forth her Skyforge blade, plunging it into the underbelly.

"**DOVAHKIIN! NO!**"

The dragon's body reared and then fell to the ground with a deafening sound. Tharwen stood, in awe, and suddenly felt a welling within her, as the beast began to disintegrate, its essence draining into her body. She felt light and giddy and after a few moments, noticed a crowd had gathered.

"You..you took it's very soul!" One of the men took off his helmet, staring aghast. A few murmured in agreement.

"Are you Dragonborn? I heard the tales of the Dragonborn when I was but a lad…"

"Try to shout!"

Tharwen took a deep breath, and tried to recall one of her words, releasing a shaking cry. The rubble quaked momentarily, and the guards began to talk excitedly.

The Dunmer Housecarl arrived and there was hush, but she had heard the spectacle. Irileth looked skeptical but admitted "I'm not sure about this Dragonborn business, but you helped us take down a dragon. That's good enough for me. Report to the Jarl on the situation. He needs to know Whiterun is safe. For now."

Tharwen hurried to Dragonsreach, making her way hurriedly over the tundra, Sinding following closely behind her. As she passed merchants on the road, a booming voice shouted down from the mountains, shaking the earth around them.

"_**DO-VAH-KIIIN**_"

Sinding whined, his tail curling beneath him. The merchant and bodyguards looked around fearfully. Ther farmers in their nearby fields stopped what they were doing. After a few moments of eerie silence, everyone returned to their tasks and Tharwen resumed her journey. The rest of her journey to the Jarl's palace was uneventful, but she found the Jarl waiting for her eagerly, no longer slumped in his throne.

"Another soldier came to me before you returned. He says you are Dragonborn."

Tharwen shrugged. "I absorbed an essence from the creature. I did not take it down alone."

The Jarl folded his arms. "I heard the summons from the Greybeards, as well. You should not ignore the summons of the Greybeards. You must travel to High Hrothgar and speak with them."

Tharwen remembered her duties with the Companions, and the revenge for Skjor that she and Aela were exacting. She was hesitant to abandon her responsibilities. Even at the behest of the Jarl.

"Who are these Greybeards?"

Jarl Balgruuf looked at her with bemused expression. "They are the masters of the way of the Voice. A gift that you will have innately, if you are truly Dragonborn." He added "Even if you aren't a true Nord."

She sensed that the Jarl's imposing demeanor was insisting on it. She did not want to be outed from Whiterun, or under unwarranted scrutiny from the Jarl. She wasn't terribly thrilled with the notion of being someone of such renown in SKyrim though - she did not want to draw attention to herself.

"I will make my pilgrimage once my affairs are in order." She promised, hedging to give herself more time. If she needed to run she should at least be prepared.

* * *

The moment she entered Jorrvaskr, Tharwen was approached by Aela.

"I think Kodlak knows what we've been up to. He asked to see you immediately. Don't tell him anything he doesn't need to know, but don't lie to him. He can smell the untruth."

She, handed Sinding a piece of raw meat and let him chew on the tough hide while she went to see Kodlak in his quarters. She sat across from the Harbringer, meeting his tired eyes. He appeased her with an understanding but almost parental gaze. She worried she had disappointed him then, and was surprised at how she felt about it. Tharwen fidgeted with her cloak, emblazoned with the sigil of the Companions, and felt suddenly unworthy of it.

"I know what you and Aela have been doing."

Tharwen opened her mouth to protest and he silenced her with a motion of his hand. "I know you are doing what you both believe is right - but vengeance will not bring back Skjor. I know you and Aela relish in the power of the beast's blood, but in my years I have begun to yearn for my final resting place to be in Sovngarde. I have seen in my dreams the other Harbringers being dragged to Hircine's hunting grounds. I want to meet Ysgramor, and feast with my brothers in Sovngarde, so I have been seeking a cure."

"Skjor said it was a blessing. From Lord Hircine." Tharwen interjected.

"Aye, for some perhaps, there is some truth to it. But the true story is more complicated. One of my predecessors was short sighted, and made a pact with the Glenmoril witches coven. If the Companions hunted for Hircine, they would be granted a great power. They did not realize the change would be permanent. The Blood, the curse, affects the body and the soul. Upon death, we are to be claimed by Lord Hircine to spend eternity in his Hunting Grounds, as his loyal hounds. For some, I am sure, it is their choice, but for myself I seek the kinship of Sovngarde. In my last years I have sought an end to this curse, and I think I have found the answer. The witches that cursed us have the power to reverse the curse. They will not part with this magic willingly, but it can be taken from them. Go, find them, and bring me one of their heads, so we can take the magic and reverse their trickery."

Kodlak's old eyes were vibrant with hope. Tharwen felt conflicted - she relished in the power that the beast blood granted her, and as many Bosmer, cared little for drinking and merriment, compared to the glory of the Hunt. Her cultural upbringing and recent protest against the "civilisation" efforts of the Thalmor brought her closer to the Prince of the Hunt. Nonetheless, Tharwen was not unsympathetic toward the old man. The Companions fought for honor, and it would bring her and her shield-siblings honor to help him with this task.

"I will do what I can to assist you." Tharwen acquiesced, "I just ask that I not lose my own gift."

Kodlak seemed relieved, not arguing the point. "I will need to send you without your shield siblings this time. The Circle is divided on this issue, and the others are not informed of all of the details. I trust in your fortitude, and your ability to persevere. You have executed your tasks thus far with the attitude befitting a Companion, and I am glad to have you here to help me. If you wish to cure yourself or no, that is your decision."

The praise surprised Tharwen. Although she had certainly proven herself, she felt as if his words may have been unwarranted.

"The Jarl has asked me to travel to High Hrothgar, as a pilgrim. He says I have been summoned."

Kodlak nodded. "Then go and complete both of these tasks. I am not so old yet. I can wait for your return."

Tharwen turned to leave, unable to shake an uneasy feeling. She took in the sight of the Harbringer once more and left to pack her things, and prepare for her long journey.


	8. Hargravens

**1-08-14**

**Another update! I have the next 6 or so chapters planned out, but don't have the time to write them! Will try to update as much as I can. **

**I should mention that there are some other mods I use that will explain some of the description here. I have Wild Horses, Prides of Skyrim (adds lions) and animal mods that improve the animals' behavior and adds baby animals. **

**Special thank-you to HappyHampsters who has been such a prolific reviewer :) **

* * *

Tharwen set off on her journey before dawn the following morning, Sinding following at her heels. She donned her traditional, leather Bosmer armor, cowl and cape included, and carried her newly crafted bow and shortblades, along with an assortment of arrows. She had also brought a small bit of cheese and water with her, but did so mostly out of convenience than necessity. She could eat raw meat and intended to hunt while she traveled. Kodlak had shown her a rough map outlining where Glenmoril coven's hideout was located, to the best of his knowledge. She decided to head first to Rorikstead, and complete his assignment before going to the Greybeards, as she had been ordered by the Jarl.

She found a group of wild horses, and beckoned one over with her natural ability, mounting the creature without tack, and cantered over the sea of stubby grassland. In the distance, the dim sounds of a fight were apparent, and as she approached, she could see a bloody skirmish taking place in a clash of red and blue. Whiterun had seemed neutral, and although many there were affected by the war, the war hadn't arrived there just yet. It was coming closer though. Tharwen kept her distance from the battle, wanting to make better time, and felt annoyed at the fact that it meant any local game would have fled far from there by now. The bay horse shied as they moved past, perhaps due to the circling birds overhead, awaiting the feast of dead bodies. Not far she found dead Stormcloaks and Legionnaires, being scavenged by the re-emerged wildlife. She instructed Sinding to leave the bodies, though she dismounted several times to search the bodies for useful items - arrows, health potions and gold they may have carried. After moving far enough away that she could no longer see or smell evidence of the battle, she took a break and allowed the horse to graze while she enjoyed a small meal. The sun was past its zenith as she rode into a small town. Rorikstead was a small scattering of buildings, surrounded by farms. Unlike Riverwood, despite the similar size, the settlement felt very open, only sheltered by a small outcropping of rocks on its western side. Tharwen dismounted, and allowed the horse to wander, return to its herd. She was greeted by a guard, and entered the inn.

"Welcome, stranger." An older, balding man approached her. "Name's Mralki. Do you need a meal and a bed for the night?"

Tharwen handed the man a handful of gold. "I'd like a room for the night."

"Of course, this way."

He eyed the wolf pup, now reaching Tharwen's waist, though still lanky and awkard. The animal did not give an air of aggression, and was quiet, even more so than the wolfhounds or malamutes that were common dogs in Skyrim.

"Just let me know if there's anything else you need." Mralki turned and left while Tharwen settled in.

The Bosmer unloaded her pack and relaxed momentarily, and fed Sinding a hefty portion of leftover elk meat. The canid chewed on the bone and gristle as Tharwen shared the meal, downing fresh water as she did so. As she laid back, to review her plans for the the coven, she heard a sudden and all-too-familiar screech.

"DRAGON!"

She quickly gathered her weapons, and left her pack, running outside to see an ill-planned bandit raid being interrupted by the massive form of a grey-green wyvern. A burst of flame ignited the hillside, and she could see one of the bandits fall to the ground. Tharwen crept around, to get a good view of the dragon's haunches before loosing several arrows. The beast wailed, and the sparse guards on duty joined the fray along with a few brave villagers.

Tharwen cut down one of the bandits that had tried to take advantage of the chaos, her blade sliding through the gaps in the leather armor. She stuffed down her urges to transform and feed on the newly killed bandit, but resisted. There were too many people here and she would not spoil the Circle's secret. She instead channeled this fury into her blades and bow, and drove her emotions toward Sinding who fought with new vigor, tearing at the heels of the other invaders while Tharwen turned her attention to the dragon.

She leaped onto a higher outcrop, and took aim, her arrow glancing off the scales and missing its eye. It turned to face her, and a glimmer of recognition shone in its eye. Almost a trace of fear, was swallowed by arrogant rage. Tharwen dodged before the dragon's breath reached her, the flames creeping along the rocks as it burned the lichen and moss. Tharwen leaped up again and shouted at the dragon's maw.

"_FUS_!"

The force hit enough to stop the dragon for only a moment and she fired several arrows between the twin horns protruding from it's skull. The first bounced off of the hardened bone but the second found a softer spot, sinking into the flesh. She fired another directly into its maw, aiming for the softer palette of the roof of the mouth. The dragon ushered another gout of fire, a reaction to the pain and it's valor had weakened considerably. One of the guards swiftly entered and stabbed the dragon's belly, receiving a sharp blow from it's claws. But the damage had been done. In another flurry of arrows from Tharwen and another guard, the great beast reared and then fell with an earth-shaking thud. Tharwen felt drawn to the carcass and saw the creature once disintegrate as she approached, its essence enveloping her and she felt a sudden rush as she absorbed it. The guards looked at her in awe, and she reached down to college the bones and bounties of the now-dead beast. Sinding tried to gnaw on the solid bone but whimpered as he found it too hot and hard for him. Tharwen packed them gently, scales and bones both, and carried them back to the inn, placing them with her pack.

* * *

Tharwen woke the following morning later in the day, enjoying a larger breakfast, and set off on foot toward the witches' coven. The air was cold, but the sun illuminated the landscape with the strange light of the land far north. Tharwen kept alert, as she and her companion approached another skirmish, though much smaller than the last. The smell of ozone, and the sharp sound of electricity brought her attention suddenly. She knew it was a common magic, but it was highly favored by the Mer, especially Thalmor.

The voice echoed in her mind, and she felt a sick sense of memory creep over her. She felt her heart racing, and saw the black-robed figure sending another spark toward a Stormcloak soldier, who fell to the ground, twitching. Tharwen swallowed and moved away, feeling her heart pounding heavier and heavier, faster and faster. Sinding whined, and paced around her as she slowly packed all of her things into a bundle and placed them loosely around her neck. She allowed the beast to overtake her, and in a burst of fur and teeth she barreled toward the hooded elf.

The force knocked them both off their feet, to the ground. The elf managed to dodge her second blow and she felt her fur singed as the electricity burned through her flesh. She struck him with long claws, cutting deep gashes through the robes and into the flesh, the life ebbing out of him. She engorged herself, only stopping when a sharp, pained yelp from Sinding was apparent. She turned her massive head, her black maw covered in blood, and saw another Thalmor soldier. She jumped, the force of her body landing atop the altmer and tore open the throat, feeding from its life force. The few surviving Stormcloaks charged her. In the heat of ecstasy she tore limbs from trunks and chewed through light mail and heavy curvaiss alike. She felt vibrant, and now, as the sky darkened, threatening rain. She and Sinding loped at a quick pace, toward the general direction of Glenmoril. Tharwen's mind began to clear, and she took notice of the landmarks as they neared the coven. It was pouring by the time they reached the alcove, mostly-picked bones and carcasses littering the cave's entrance. The smell was acrid, what could only be from magic and dead creatures rotting nearby. Feathers littered the entrance of the cave, larger than from any bird Tharwen had seen since Valenwood. Sinding investigated, sniffing at the droppings and various animal parts around the cave. Tharwen watched the small wolf roll around in the refuse and followed in suit, to cover their scent as they entered the cavern.

Sinding surged ahead of her, pouncing a skeever lurking in the shadows. Tharwen urged him to follow, instead of feeding from the creature, that likely was diseased and sickly in such a place. Ahead, several smaller flames and a larger, central fire gave the dim cavern slight illumination. The odd outline of a body was apparent, working away, grinding ingredients meant for a potion. The scuffle sounded unlike boots or bare feet, but claws.

_Harpy?_

The moment Tharwen let the thought cross her mind, Sinding charged into the cavern, worrying the ankles of the creature. Tharwen followed, using her weight to interrupt the harpy's spell. Tharwen felt the impact of the fireball and fell back, the scorching heat alighting on her coat, the smell of burnt fur filling her nostrils. She growled, and clawed at the witch, who returned a strike with her talons and a screech. Tharwen sent a flurry of sharp blows against her, batting the harpy's talons away, to prevent the witch from firing her magic. Tharwen finally unbalanced her, and tore into the witch's chest, till she bled dry. Tharwen fed from the body as much as she could stand, but the odd, almost foul, taste left much to be desired and she felt no rush of power. Tharwen felt her beast form fading, and hurried out of the cave, in case the other members of the coven were to arrive while she was in her more vulnerable state.

She was nude, in the rain, when she made it out of the cave, and pulled her pack bundled from around her neck. It had suffered a bit of damage from the fire magic, but the outer wrapping had taken most of the damage. She huddled under a tree and pulled on her armor, hood, boots and gauntlets, before finishing off with the now slightly-damaged cloak. She pulled her Skyforge sword from its sheath and crept into the cavern once more, Sinding at her heels. The cavern was quiet, although she could sense that the harpy's sisters were likely elsewhere in the caverns, busy doing whatever dark magic they were working on. Tharwen quickly used the sharpened blade to slice cleanly through the harpy's neck, and wrapped the head in a shroud, before stuffing it into the pack.

She hurried out of the coven's lair and breathed in relief at the cool, earthy scent of the rainfall. Though cold, the fresh air was a blessing compared to the harsh environment of the cavern. The Bosmer shouldered her pack and set off at a quick pace. It felt late in the day, though she had a hard time discerning with the sun so thoroughly hidden. She pulled the cowl over her face, and drudged through the mud on the path, Sinding following several paces behind, silently. Once they reached the path, they made better time, now not as bogged down by the weather. Tharwen headed into the Frostfruit Inn, and paid Mralki for another night, before returning to the room. After a hearty meal alone, Tharwen settled into bed with Sinding and slept.

* * *

High Hrothgar loomed in the distance, the ever-present storm at its peak hiding the pinnacle of the summit. Tharwen had cajoled another of the wild horses into carrying her over the tundra. From the distance, on her path, Tharwen could see the silhouette of Dragonsreach, rising proudly above the flat plains. She was tempted to return immediately with Kodlak's prize before her pilgrimage, but duty drove her onward. She had been named Thane, despite the fact that she was an outsider. Their tacit acceptance, compared to the way the Thalmor Altmer had treated her, no matter what she accomplished, had made her feel obliged to follow their customs, regardless of how dubious she was toward it. The lure of power, also, drew her to her destination. The beast was a blessing of its own, but she had heard the stories of others with the power called the Voice. Ulfric Stormcloak, the usurper, had started the war by murdering King Torygg and had used that power to defeat him. Unseating a king was no small feat.

Tharwen arrived at the humble town of Ivarstead after a tiring trek through the mountains. The sun had long since set when she arrived, and she dismounted a certain distance away, before making her way to Vilemyr Inn. She was greeted by a familiar central hearth, and felt relaxed as she warmed herself. The innkeeper, a balding man just entering his later years, approached her and offered her refreshment. Tharwen paid for her room and kept his conversation to gather any advice for her journey.

"Town's pretty empty - only people come through here are pilgrims like you." He eyed her, "I hate to tell you, but you may want to save yourself the trouble. All of them return disappointed. Them Greybeards don't open their doors anymore."

Tharwen nodded politely, but did not reveal why she was going. "I'll take my chances."

He gave a half smile. "Don't see many elves climbing the steps to the Greybeards, I must say."

Tharwen gave a smile, though it was somewhat insincere. "I come at behest of a friend and dutybound. Can I have a bowl of whatever meat stew is on your menu tonight. I can offer my own game for your trouble."

Wilhelm left her and she heard him speaking to the other customers, though they were few and far between - mostly other residents of the small hamlet. In the din, she secluded herself in her own room, and fed her wolf some of the raw, dried meat they had carried with them. She left the bread for Sinding to gnaw on, and rested for the hours before dawn, when she would set upon her journey to High Hrothgar.


End file.
